A King's Last Legs
by MerlinOfTheShire
Summary: Fili survives the battle, and him alone. However, without feeling in his legs and his uncle and brother by his side, will he still be able to rule? Or will his grief for all he has lost destroy him?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot of this story.**

 **Cover Art credit goes to marisdrawings on Tumblr.**

 **Special thanks to for editing!**

 **I hope you enjoy this tale.**

* * *

Chapter 1: An Unanticipated Miracle

Dwarves are stubborn; anyone who has ever met one will surely agree, and when Fili looked back on his ordeal many years later he would firmly believe that stubbornness was the only thing that had kept him alive. Mahal, or Aulë to the elves, had made them as such. But he had also given the mountain dwellers many other defining traits: strength, endurance, a fierce loyalty and general stone-hardness, which also had something to do with Fili's survival as well- even if it wasn't always his own.

Fili had firmly believed that his story was at an end when Azog the Defiler skewered him like a pig and dropped him from a great height that was sure to kill him had the orc's blade not done so already. Curiously, or rather luckily, that had not been the case, for on the lower grounds of Ravenhill, Fili lay plastered on his back atop the cold ice with two feelings.

The first was fear: Kili had run past him a short time ago, probably believing him to be dead, and straight towards the enemy.

 _He's going to get himself killed._ The thought made his heart clench, and he found he could not think of anything else.

The second feeling was pain: it sparked, seared and burned where the blade had pierced his back, and he felt a horrid throbbing in his back. Though most terrifyingly, the pain stopped at his waist. He could feel pain from his very fingertips to his back, and then it just stopped.

Yet, it wasn't just pain that he couldn't seem to feel in his legs, but rather anything at all.

Panic began to grow inside him, and he found it harder to breath all of a sudden, his breath ragged and uneven. He jolted his arms to his side and began to claw wildly at the ground, until his fingers dug into the ice. _I might be able to pull myself up._ He drew a deep breath, not able to do much else, then pushed up of the ground from his hands.

Only, he did not.

The pain weighed on his chest like a pile of invisible stone, and he could not push them away; so he let his arms go limp for a moment. The cold did not bite at his fingers, that he could be thankful of, for they were protected by thick leather gloves. Though, he was finding it harder to move anything. He knew he was weakening from the loss of blood; he wondered how much was pooled around him. Yet, that didn't seem so important at the moment. _I need to get to them,_ he focused on the thought, and using the last of his strength, he tried to rise once more.

He could not.

Giving a hopeless cry, he let his eyes stare up into the sky. The gathering of the clouds had quite a while ago disbanded, revealing the light of the setting sun. After being stuck under the dimness of clouds for so long, the radiant light stung at his eyes, tempting forward a few held back tears.

He would not let them fall.

It was nearly dusk he realised, and he wondered if the battle would be close to ending. He wasn't entirely sure how long he had been lying there, if felt like an eternity, but an eternity would have drained his blood, and so he doubted it had been that long. His throat felt parched. _I could eat some of the snow._ He soon found he did not have the strength to lift his arms.

His thoughts turned to his brother, his friends and uncle. _Are they alive? Is the battle won, and by who?_ He tried desperately with strained ears to hear the answers to his questions: the clash of swords, the battle cry of his uncle, or even the sound of his younger brother's voice. The longer he tried to hear these sounds, the weaker he seemed to grow, and with his fading senses, the answers to his questions grew fainter.

With whatever hope he still had with him, he waited for a miracle.

As he continued to lay moribund in the ice, he came to notice an odd tingling sensation in his arms, back and around his head. It caused him little discomfort, in fact it was quite relaxing, but he didn't think it meant anything good; he felt his eyelids grow heavy from relaxation. Dying didn't seem so bad-

"You didn't deserve such pain lad, not this cruel fate. You did nothing wrong in this world," a strong yet shaky voice said.

The tingling stopped, and his eyes shot open. Gone was the relaxation, and in its place was a spark of hope, subsiding a some of his fear. He couldn't see who was speaking, but he did know who the owner of the voice was. It was a voice he had heard throughout his childhood, and he thought of it with good faith; it had gotten him out of trouble on many occasions, and it seemed this time would be no different. "Dwalin?"

There was a brief pause, clearly born of shock, but then it was broken by a quietly spoken word, "Fili?"

* * *

Dwalin could barely believe his own ears, but his eyes confirmed what he had thought impossible. Fili was alive. He rushed towards the injured Dwarf. "Mahal forgive me, I should have checked the lad sooner." He fell to his knees beside the dwarf, looking over his head. The prince smiled for a moment, then it faded into something else.

"Are they…safe? Kili…and Uncle," Fili whispered, his breath ragged in between words.

He did not answer him; instead, he gently turned Fili onto his side, causing the younger dwarf to hiss and grit his teeth. He swore when he noticed the laceration on Fili's back. The blade had been strong enough to pierce the young dwarfs armour and skin, but luckily no enough force had been used to pierce through Fili's chest. In all his years of fighting, he had never seen such a devastating wound not be instantly fatal, and he hoped it never would be.

Immediately, he tore a strip of softer fabric from his armour and pressed it to Fili's wound. He then tore another longer strip and tied it around Fili to secure the other piece in place. He would admit it was a poor job, but prettiness was a trivial thing when times like this arose.

"Are you hurt anywhere else, lad?" he asked, his voice unwavering.

"Dwalin I- I don't think I can feel my legs," Fili said quietly.

 _No._

He nodded his head calmly he must not panic the lad. He cursed himself for mentally rolling the dwarf on his side; Mahal knows what further damage that did. "It will be alright lad, but we've got to get you back before you drain. It's a wonder you have any blood left in you," he said, trying to figure out what would be the best way he could move the younger dwarf. He thought on the idea of going back to find more help, but he feared Fili would not be able to last the time it would take to do as such.

Fili nodded his head in agreement, closing his eyes.

"Don't move your head or close your eyes," he warned, and being mindful of Fili's back and neck, he carefully slid the injured dwarf into his arms so his back, neck and knees were supported.

Fili breathed in deeply and clenched his jaw, eyes still closed.

"It's alright to cry, Fili." He meant what he said. He was a dwarf built for battle, but he knew that there were times when it was simply better to let your emotions show. He was aware that most tended to stuff them down inside like to much water in a too small flask. Sooner or later the cap would burst off from all the pressure and the contents inside erupted in a deluge of fury, anger, sadness and many other unpleasant emotions.

Fili said nothing and forced his eyes open, but not a single tear fell from them.

* * *

The decent was quick, and Dwalin was careful not to jolt Fili, who had long since fallen unconscious. He was growing more worried. Fili had lost a severe amount of blood and was weakening greatly.

By the time he reached the foot of the mountain, the sun had disappeared long ago behind a blanket of dark blue speckled with little gleaming lights that made on want to reach up and snatch them down with cupped hands so they might enjoy the light for themselves. But of course, such things were impossible, and so many grievous dwarves, elves, men, one wizard and of course a rather distraught hobbit had gone about helping the mounded and comforting those who were suffering.

Many tents had been set up far from the Gates of Erebor, for the smell emanating from it was not of the pleasing sort, but not so far that it was impractical If something had to be retrieved from inside it: the tents themselves for instance. Many of the tents seemed to be overcrowded with the wounded and deceased; both separated of course, but overcrowded nonetheless.

He knew however, that one tent had not been so heavily filled and instead was given to is deceased Kin. Many torches had been lit and stuck into the ground like spears so that they might, with the help of the stars, provide light around the darkened area for all.

As he approached the tents, many cries of sorrow and anguish could be heard from the Dwarves as Fili's limp body was noticed.

"The line of Durin is lost!" some dwarf cried.

"The heir is dead!" said another.

The remaining members of Thorin's Company simply stood frozen with shock, whispering words of denial.

He ignored all of these remarks and instead approached a rather despondent looking Dain, who had emerged from the illuminated tent when the cries had arisen. "Where is the wizard?" Dwalin asked hurriedly.

Dain raised his eyebrows. "Which one do ya mean? The one with the tall pointy hat or the one that looks like he's been shat on by a bird? What do ya need one of them for?"

"The one with the hat," he replied, "It's Fili; he's still alive. But he needs help; the lad might not have long. He is hurt badly."

Gasps of surprise and relief were suddenly, and quite loudly, cried here and there and here again until Dwalin wasn't quite sure where each outburst had come from. Some did not seem to believe his words and began murmuring amongst themselves.

A few elves muttered about the distrust of the dwarves, as they always did. They never seemed to stop.

"I think he's talking with the Hobbit fellow in the Far East Tent, you better hurry. Ill keep any peering eyes away," Dain said.

"My thanks are with you cousin," he said gratefully. The dwarf hen pushed his way through the boisterous crowd, mindful of Fili as he did this, and headed towards the Far East Tent as Dain had said. Luckily, the tents were not spread far between each other and only covered a short distance that could easily be walked in a few moments.

Fili had not yet stirred and continued to grow weaker as more blood spilt. The ice that he had been lying on had slowed the flow, but now as he continued to carry him in the open air nothing was there to slow his blood flow. He had grown so pale, that it no longer surprised him that people had so quickly jumped to the conclusion that he was dead.

In the darkness, he noticed that one tent seemed more heavily lit than the rest, and so he decided that this must be the Far East tent that Dain spoke off. He quickly began striding towards it.

Quite suddenly, a tall figure hurried from within the tent. His left arm was in a sling and he wore an apprehensive look upon his greyed face. He hastily approached him "Is he alive, is he still with us?" he asked hurriedly.

"Aye, he is Gandalf, but-"

"Do not take him in there: it would cause him to much stress if he were to wake," Gandalf said, gesturing to the tent he had emerged from. The wizard began moving his hand over Fili's wounds, mumbling incoherent words as he did this. Whatever they meant, they seemed to be slowing the young dwarf's bleeding.

 _If._ Dwalin did not like such an insecure word; it suggested the uncertainty in things. He quickly decided that _if_ would, in fact, be _when_.

"Follow me, Fili will not have long if we do not make haste," the wizard said wearily. He turned and began to walk to a nearby tent before stopping and turning his head towards the illuminated tent. "Oh and Bilbo, go and notify the others of this. But do not allow them near the tent."

He almost jumped in surprise as the hobbit suddenly appeared outside the tent Gandalf had come from. He swore that the hobbit had grown too furtive for his own good. But he was glad to see the Halfling in a better state than what he had been in earlier.

Bilbo gave a sorrowful look to Fili, a small smile to him and then disappeared into the night.

* * *

It was going to be a long night, that much Bilbo knew. But yet, as the night wore on, so did Gandalf. To the untrained ear, it simply seemed the wizard was mumbling all sorts of nonsense over the injured dwarf, but not to Bilbo. He could recognise it as the old language of the elves, and the difference between life and death for Fili.

As he waited by the tent with the company, a feeling of apprehension seemed to fill the air. It twisted and grew inside him until he felt himself grow cold. It seemed like he was not the only one who felt his, going by the looks on the companies faces. All were anxious to see what would become of their heir, and to some, their friend.

It was soon apparent that this anxiousness had overpowered the company of Thorin Oakenshield, for it was not long before they were all gathered at the entrance of Fili's tent. He felt quite frustrated by this, taking into account that he had specifically told them all Gandalf's instructions, especially when they went as far as to _enter the tent._

"I don't trust the wizard; he could be making the lad worse. I can't even understand what he was saying," Oin muttered as he strode into the tent.

"You can't ever understand out what anyone's saying," Gloin commented, his eyebrows raised as he followed the elder dwarf.

Soon followed the rest, all bickering amongst themselves about a good many other things that concerned them: Fili, wizards, elves and the disagreement that he was expressing as they pushed past him. _Bloody dwarves._

Gandalf's mumbling ceased, and his eyebrows furrowed as the dwarves and one hobbit piled into the tent. "Didn't Bilbo make it clear that I did not wish to be disturbed?" Gandalf said, directing his gaze to him.

Bofur shuffled on his feet, his eyes on Fili's still form. "Aye, he did. But we thought—we were all wondering—"

Bilbo imagined that the dwarf would have spoken for a long while of the many reasons for why they were there, and not outside of the tent. This sort of thing had occurred quite often on the journey, and the company, including himself, had grown quite annoyed by it.

Sighing, Balin moved forward and took the liberty of pushing his rambling companion aside. "What he means to say is that we had grown worried for Fili and we wish to see him," Balin said promptly.

In response to this, Oin stepped from behind Bofur and walked towards Fili, who had been laid on an assortment of soft fabrics and clothes. It did not look like the most comfortable arrangement, but the mountain was yet to provide cots for the wounded to lie.

Soon, he noticed that beside Fili, closer to the edge of the tent, was Dwalin. His arms were folded and he wore his usual scold, but his eyes showed the sadness he felt.

"I myself am questioning your healing methods. Have you stopped his bleeding? Assessed his wounds? The words that you speak don't seem to be making any change to the lad," Oin questioned.

"My dear Oin, how quickly you distrust me. The words I speak are from the language of the Eldar, and they are responsible for keeping Fili alive." Gandalf looked thoughtful for a moment, "Though, your healing expertise may be of use this night. But the rest of you must leave, including you Dwalin. Your brooding is of no help to Fili." Gandalf said solemnly.

The company remained still, tossing glances between each other. Dwalin then sighed, unfolded his arms and moved to join the other dwarves and himself.

However, he noticed, Oin had already begun examining the injured prince, seeming to be pleased to find that the wizard had stopped. The rest of the company was still uneasy. He knew it was not in the nature of dwarves to leave their kin, relation or not.

Oin then raised his trumpet to his ear. "Could you tell me the extent of his injuries? It would save a great deal of time."

"I'm sure Dwalin can inform you, but after that, he must leave, along with the rest of you. I myself must focus on keeping him alive, which would have been easier had I not been interrupted," The Wizard said gruffly.

All eyes then turned to look at Dwalin expectantly. Though the tent was well lit, it seemed as though a shadow had passed across the battle hardened dwarf's face. Dwalin bowed his head, and there is stayed for a few seconds. When he raised it again, his eyes gleamed slightly. "The lad was suffering from an internal bleeding; Gandalf managed to stop it somehow with the words he was speaking." Dwalin paused, as if in thought. "The orcs blade narrowly missed anything too important when it stuck his left side… and he has a nasty bump on the head from the fall," Dwalin said slowly, bowing his head once more.

The company then shifted their eyes onto Fili. He had remained still since the time he had fallen unconscious. His outer armour had been removed, and his hair was in blonde tangles around his head; his normally neat braids in strands only held together by clasps and dried blood.

"Is that all?" Oin asked, slightly puzzled but still relieved. He too was questioning Fili's survival.

Dwalin shook his head. "No. The lad is so weak…but he is the strongest I have ever met," He said, a hint of pride hidden in his grief. "…The fall...it…the lad can no longer feel his legs."

An even deadlier silence fell upon the company; only Gandalf's quiet muttering and Fili's laboured breathing could be heard.

"…Can't feel his legs," Bofur said quietly, struggling to comprehend his own words.

"Yes, it is true; he fell on his back when he fell. And the style of his departure from Ravenhill did not help him," Gandalf passed an accusing glance to Dwalin. "He has lost movement in his legs completely. Though; I suspect that he will be able to move his neck and upper body without too much strain in the next few weeks, possibly days if we are lucky, my healing has helped with that."

"A few days?" Oin questioned, "that can't be—"

This arose a bit of murmuring among the company. Bilbo knew that talk of death just after survival discomforted them; it made their hearts twist inside them. Yet, they seemed to decide to heed Gandalf's words.

So the company went, not needing much more convincing, laden with apprehensive feelings in their bellies as they lumbered to their tents.

But not him, he instead made his instead quietly made his way to the same tent he had come from earlier, a forlorn look on his face. He, like the others, wanted dearly to be with the injured dwarf, but the dead did not last for long.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot of this story.**

 **A/N**

 **Hello! Good morning, afternoon, night, noon, evening or whatever time of day/night it is. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter if you have been kind enough to open chapter 2.**

 **If you were wondering how Fili managed to last that long whilst bleeding and all those other things. Do not fret! All will be explained later. Basically, I am trying to get you to continue reading. Sorry.**

 **Anyways! If you would like to give me any feedback, you are most welcome. If I made you cry I want to know. Not just internally cry, but literally. If you felt nothing I want to know. *falls to knees* please I beg of you! *cries dramatically***

* * *

Chapter 2: Awakening to the Truth and Dreaming of the False

Fili found himself once again lying on his back, not unconscious but not fully with the world, just sort of in-between. He was vaguely aware of the nasty bump on his head, a hot pain in his back and the dim orange tent above him, but not much else. Not even the obscure demeanour of the aged wizard resting by the edge of the tent, his eyes seemingly gazing far away to a different reality as it were.

Oin had long since gone to rest in his own tent, his patient's wounds stitched and cleaned. Gandalf had eventually, after many hours, reassured himself that it would be safe to leave the young dwarf without his aid while he rested and focusing his magic on his own broken arm. This reassurance had lasted the past few hours and what would be the next two minutes and twelve seconds.

A wafting, lingering, burning smell curled its way into the tent in spindly arms of grey smoke. It was the kind of smell that lingers in your nose and breaks you from your own mind. The smell of a fire. It made you stop what you were doing and think _Fire? Dragon? Am I safe? Where is it? Is it near me? Should I worry?_

This smell was what broke Fili from his in-between state. First, the smell entered his nose, making his nostrils curl. Then he felt his stomach give a twist and he thought: _Fire. But I thought I was dead? This cannot be right, something is wrong_. That was enough to send the dwarf into a brief panic that made his chest heave. He wasn't at all sure where he was or what was happening except that his mind was telling him _danger._ The dwarf began to try and sit upright; this time he was a fraction more successful than the last time he had attempted this, for his upper back managed to leave the ground by a few centimetres.

A hand came to press on his shaking shoulders, and though it was gentle the grip was quite strong. "Fili, Fili. I need you to relax," Gandalf said softly, trying to calm the panicked dwarf. Fili's heaving slowed a little, but only when he noticed the wizard. His eyes continued to dart to wherever they could see, which was really only what was above him. Not at all reassuring or comforting when you did not know where you were and danger was your only thought.

Finally, Fili's eyes came to rest on the wizard and they filled with alarm. "Gandalf?" He asked puzzled, his voice weak as he shook. "What's happening, I smell smoke."

Gandalf's features softened as the dwarf started to relax; his hand loosened his grip in response. "Yes it is I. It is around midday, you have been asleep since late last afternoon. There is…a fire...not far from here. But rest assured it is well under control. You are quite safe; you are in a healing tent at the foot of the mountain—" The Wizard soon stopped when Fili's face begun to furrow with confusion. "What do you remember of the battle, Fili?"

Fili frowned slightly. He didn't know what he remembered. He thought back to the beginning of the battle and tried to let any second or scrap of memory come to the front of his mind. Slowly, inch by inch, they crept forth, edging around the lump on his head that had blocked them. And so Fili began to tell Gandalf what he remembered: How the battle started, searching the lower tunnels under Thorin's orders. Fili spoke quietly, his voice shaky. "It was a trap. We were foolish not to realise sooner. I sent Kili away, I knew there—I thought there would be no escape. Fili stopped suddenly, and a flicker of fear passed through his eyes. "I was so scared," he whispered. "They came from all around; everywhere I turned they were there…" He stopped again, looking away. "It hurt so much…I couldn't even feel when I first landed on the ice."

Two uncomfortable questions entered the wizard's mind, and both needed answers. But first a drink, the dwarf had been talking for quite a while and had not drunk any water since he had first started treating his injuries. He rose to his feet. "One moment." He approached a small assortment of supplies in the corner; he selected a small leather flask and then made his way back to Fili. Quite carefully, he helped Fili down some of the water, making sure not to accidentally drown the dwarf. Fili smiled gratefully when he was finished.

"What do you remember after the fall, Fili?" Gandalf asked calmly, not wanting to cause and more stress to the dwarf. It was clear to the wizard that recalling these events was a troublesome business.

It took several moments for Fili to speak. "Kili ran past me and—" He stopped suddenly, panicked. "Gandalf, where is my brother? I…. I think I asked Dwalin if they were safe, I don't recall him answering me."

The aged wizard shuffled slightly, for he now knew the answer to the first question; Fili did not know what had happened to his kin yet. "They…are in the next tent," he said slowly.

Fili's eyes widened slowly. "Well I must go and see them," he said anxiously, and he began to attempt to sit up once more, this time, he tried to move his legs to help him manoeuvre himself. Only, once again, he found he could not. And even though the pain was riveting through his back yet again, the only sound that escaped his lips was a small, quite "oh."

Gandalf's second question was answered.

"I'd forgotten about that," Fili said with a humble voice though his voice shook. "It's strange, I can see them, but I can't feel them. It's like looking at someone else's legs and trying to get them to move with your eyes; it just won't work," he said slowly, still staring at his legs. "I just realised, earlier I felt a strange tingling sensation on my back, and now I can feel it again on my shoulders. What could that be Gandalf?"

Gandalf hummed in thought, "I expect it has something to do with nerve damage." The wizard stopped and then spoke calmly ", when you fell, you injured your spinal cord, to what extent I do not know yet. Fili…" He paused, allowing the young dwarf to gather his thoughts. "It grieves me, to say this, but you will never walk again."

 _Never_. Fili had not thought of it that way yet. A part of him just assumed that it would just heal and go away, like a scratch. Suddenly, the idea of never walking again sunk in. His heart seemed to stop for a beat. And while it did— a part of it, something more than flesh and blood, disappeared. It may have hope, but hope never goes away forever. No, it seemed more likely, but not to Fili, that a part of his very meaning had faded away. But not all of it, some still remained.

"Is there any way I can see them?" he asked somewhat doubtfully, his voice sounding long and low. It had only been a short time since he had awakened and already the dwarf was slowly beginning to tire. His eyelids were beginning to droop closed and his mind was starting to cloud over once more.

The wizard shook his head. "Not at this time. Now you must rest and regain your strength," he brought his hand to rest on the dwarf's forehead, concentrating his magic on calming the dwarf. Not having the strength or good reason to resist, Fili let himself be drifted asleep, leaving behind all his fears. But sooner or later one had to wake up.

* * *

When morning had come for the company of Thorin Oakenshield, all of its members left their tents with heavy eyes. Their pained minds had not allowed sleep to come easy, and staying awake had been no less onerous. Both sleep and wake brought forth troublesome thoughts. So once they had found their bearings and somewhat settled their minds, they gathered around a small eating area in front of the tents. By this time, it was already 10:32 and most of the food that had been salvaged by the elves and men had already disappeared once again.

So they sat, sharing what food they had as smoke twisted their noses and flies buzzed around their faces annoyingly. Any attempt to swat them away was quickly decided futile. No one spoke for an eternity and a little bit more. It seemed odd, that not so long ago the same ground that they were sitting on had only recently been a place of death and violence. After the last of the rations had been devoured, and the flies had grown bored of not being swatted, Oin stood up, straightened his clothes and took out his ear trumpet. "I suppose you're all wondering how the lad faired last night." The dwarves and one hobbit hummed in acknowledgement.

Oin turned his head and briefly made eye contact with each of his audience. "You all know the extent of his injuries, and you know what they will cost him. It took many hours, but I managed to settle his wounds. It was lucky the lad was asleep, his wound had to be sterilised with heat—"

"What of the wizard? What was his role in this?" asked Gloin, wondering if his brother's early suspicions had been correct. He had thought his brother's view on the wizard had been true; with their wonderings but never being lost, their strange ways and association with almost everyone. The wizard always mysteriously leaving them when peril showed its face only strengthened his suspicions. But now, after everything that had happened, perhaps a wizened wizard was exactly what they needed.

"I was wrong to question his methods. I still prefer more practical healing methods, not the strange incantations of elves; though without them, Fili would not be with us today," Oin finished.

"So he is awake then?" asked Bofur, looking hopeful yet worried as he clutched his hat to his chest.

Oin looked doubtful for a moment. Once all the healing he could provide had been given, he did not know what happened after he left the tent like the others and off to wherever he could find space to sleep. Just as he was about to open his mouth to say so, a looming figure appeared over the company.

"He has awoken, just five minutes ago," Gandalf said in his usual rough tone, his face showing great happiness; part of it being the pride the wizard had towards his impeccable timing.

An eruption of cheers broke out amongst the company. Some slapped hands while others merrily smiled and embraced each other. Bofur smiled cheerfully and thunked his hat back on his head, patting it slightly to tame the crease formed from his tightly gripped hands.

Gandalf smiled slightly. "However, he is resting now, and there are matters to be taken care of. I'm sure you are aware that there are many problems that have arisen with the sun. Food…deceased and so forth. Arrangements need to be made, and fast."

"Aye, he is right. We need to act fast, already we are running out of food, we have no way of accessing the mountain without more numbers and stronger arms," Dwalin commented. Many men and dwarves were wounded, dead, or too weak to provide the strength required to lift the rock that blocked the passages inside the mountain. He only had to glance around the crowded campsite to see this. Wounded lay outside of the crowded tents, flies eating at their wounds as they lay in anguish. What strength they had been tending to the wounded or out looking for supplies. There were some elves to add to that strength, but their help had not been fully acknowledged yet.

There was a sudden silence. "So what you're saying is, we need a council meeting," said Ori, looking rather excited by this opportunity.

"That is exactly what I am proposing." The wizard answered. "We will need to include members of each of the surviving parties. By that, I mean all of you as you have all had a great part to play in these past few days. This will also include Dain, Bard, Thranduil and his heir."

The dwarves groaned in annoyance and dispute. As Dain had so politely put it, they wanted the faithless woodland sprites to sod off.

* * *

It had been over an hour since Fili had awoken for the second time, and it was almost past 10:00 at night. It was the second night since the battle, and he was alone with only his thoughts. His mind was working a lot better than it had been earlier: a great deal more considering the dwarfs current situation. However, this does not mean that there was nothing wrong with his mind, but rather he could grasp information from his surroundings more accurately, and figure things out faster than he could several hours ago. Fili was a naturally smart dwarf, so with the added combination of the ability to piece together information, and the vague answers to so many of his earlier questions that lingered in his mind, Fili began to figure out what he would soon wish he had not.

First, he began to wonder why neither his brother nor uncle had visited him. "They are in the next tent," Gandalf had said _. Surely they would have visited me if they were able. Maybe they are injured._ When he had fallen, and Kili had run past him, he had feared that his little brother would be hurt. _Perhaps he has been._ Fili's breathe tightened as he pieced another thing together. _No, he isn't. They are not hurt. Neither of them. There probably just sleeping. Dwalin had said that they—_ Fili's thoughts ceases suddenly _. What had Dwalin said?_ He wondered.

 _Nothing_. The word floated into his mind chillingly, making his heart stop for a moment. He had said nothing, and Fili knew it. Fili had been subconsciously telling himself that Dwalin had not heard him, denying that there was the reason behind his lack of an answer. He knew better now.

Dwalin and Gandalf had lied to him. Well, not lied to him, but rather keep parts of the truth from him. That was clear to him. But why? Why would they keep information from me if it were not important? Fili's thoughts stopped again. _Something has happened._ The thought chilled Fili to the bone. Had they been simply injured or unable to leave their tents due to tiredness I would have been told. And why am I not in the same tent. Fili did not need to ponder the next answer for long. _There is something they do not wish me to see._

And then he knew.

At this exact moment, in the tent opposite Fili's—the one that his uncle and brother resided in; the one given to the more honoured fallen, Bilbo Baggins sat before his fallen friends. The forlorn Hobbit had been silently waiting for them to wake up, to breathe or simply give some sign of life. Of course, such things did not happen and the hobbit silently resigned to supplication. Now Bilbo wasn't the sort of person who moped around all day when sad things occurred; but this time, he felt had the right to be sad, to cry, to beg, or at least for the meantime.

The meantime suddenly seemed to include the agonised cry that had come from the next tent. It had not been a sob; it was too dry to be so. It was more like the lamented sound someone would make when the rest of their very meaning had been torn violently from them. Realisation dawned on Bilbo. _Fili is in that tent_. And with that thought, he passed a glance behind him and went to investigate why such a pained noise had been made.

Upon arriving in the tent, he first realised that Fili was the only one present in the tent. Odd, he thought. Less than a second later, he realised that Fili was shaking where he lay, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He was not weeping, for no tears fell from his face, instead he was letting out broken, grievous cries through laboured breaths as his shoulders shook. It was quite a curious thing to see; someone crying without tears and just sounds when only a day ago, Bilbo himself had been weeping into his own hands, rocking on his heels as he sat beside his fallen friend.

Mindfully, Bilbo began to make his way towards the grieving dwarf. A blanket lay over Fili and his head was cushioned under a pile of softer clothing. Not wanting to startle Fili, Bilbo stopped within speaking distance from him. "Fili are you alright?" Bilbo asked, before suddenly realising how ridiculous that question sounded. The dwarf seemed determined to keep control of his tears, and it seemed so far that he was succeeding.

"They're gone," Fili whispered in a voice that was almost as broken as the world outside his tent. "They're gone, they're gone," he repeated shakily, struggling to speak through his own strained breath.

Realisation suddenly hit Bilbo, and he wondered why he hadn't figured it out sooner. _He knows._ Slowly, Bilbo sat down by the dwarfs head, his own eyes stinging. He was not sure what to say. Bilbo could recall the pain, the loss and the emptiness he felt when he had watched his friend die and it felt like someone had stuck a knife in his heart and cut away at it, but he had own known him for two and half years. A flicker of the life Fili had spent with his uncle and brother. And to have that kind of love ripped from you when it was so close that it had become a part of who you were…Bilbo could not imagine such a pain. "Fili—"

"How?" Fili interrupted. It was a simple question, but it seemed it did not have such a simple answer.

How did it happen? Bilbo thought. Did Bilbo want to tell Fili such a thing? Would it do any good to tell him how his uncle and brother had died? No. "Fili I don't think—"

"Please," Fili said slowly as he gained control of his breathing… "My brother and uncle are dead. Please…I need to know how," Fili pleaded, his eyes still closed tightly, though his breath slowly slightly, although his chest still heaved.

Bilbo thought for a moment. He had not seen the death of Kili and did not quite know how the final battle between Thorin Oakenshield and Azog the defiler had gone down, but perhaps it was better that way. He had no details to share, just what he knew from what he had seen, and what he had heard. He started slowly, "Your uncle was wounded by Azog, both felled each other, but your uncle…passed on a while later after Azog."

"So he killed the orc?" Fili asked quietly.

Bilbo nodded his head in response. "Yes, he did. He made his peace with me before he…"

"Before he died." Fili's eyes were open now, but they were staring off into nowhere. They were watery, Bilbo could see that, but his face was dry. He now wore a stern, iron look on his face that reminded Bilbo of Thorin, and not in a fond way.

"And my brother?" Fili asked, his tightened face breaking in places.

As Bilbo thought for an answer, he ran his fingers in Fili's hair for reassurance. It did nothing to relax the dwarf. "I don't know exactly…how it happened," he started. "I saw him run off after you fell. I'm sorry Fili I don't completely know."

Fili breathed in deeply. _It's my fault. Kili ran off thinking I was dead. I should have realised it was a trap… I could have warned them sooner. I got them killed._ The thoughts entered Fili's head like a snake; twisting and turning as it burrowed its way into his mind, then his heart. They were the kind of thoughts that you don't normally think a part of you is damaged, and not a part that could be seen or found if you looked. So it wasn't so easy to fix it with medicine or magic. "It's my fault. I should have known it was a trap. If I had—"

Bilbo's fingers stopped, his voice becoming more serious. "Fili this is in no way your fault. You could not have known what was to happen, you could not have prevented this," Bilbo said firmly, trying to meet the dwarf's eyes. He knew what such thoughts did to you, especially when they were aimed to tear yourself down. He had had them before, a few even on his 'adventure' as he would one day call it. He also knew it was especially hard to deny your own thoughts, and that it seemed easier to succumb to guilt and shame then face yourself; tell it that it was wrong. Fili suddenly shuddered under his hand. "Fili?" He asked, worried.

Fili seemed to relax slightly after shuddering once. "I seem to keep getting this strange tickling feeling, this time around my shoulders and arms. Gandalf said it was nerve damage," Fili said, his voice slightly less shaky than earlier. "It's strange, it does not hurt. I actually find it sort of relaxing."

Bilbo released his hand, worrying slightly that he had caused what Fili was talking about. He yawned quietly before twitching his nose. It was getting late he decided, and it would be best if they both went to sleep if it were possible. "I am sorry about your legs Fili,'' he said sincerely. "Is anything I can do?"

"I just want to see them," was all Fili answered, his eyes too beginning to droop. "Tell them I'm sorry," Fili said, and the snake-like thoughts slithered into his mind once more, whispering painful things to him as their tongues flickered.

Bilbo bowed his head. "Your uncle was proud of you, he told me that, and if he could now, he would tell you too," Bilbo said softly. "And your brother would be proud too, he looked up to you. Anyone could see that. And neither of them, not even for one second, would blame you for what has happened." As Bilbo said this, he felt a shiver embrace his shoulders. _Must be the wind_ Bilbo thought.

After a moment, Fili nodded, his eyes closed once again. He mulled over Bilbo's words. He wanted to believe them. He truly did, but it felt wrong too like he did not have the right to say he was not at fault. "I still want to see them," he said, his voice slow and quiet.

"I know, and I promise that you will," Bilbo said. Then he realised that fulfilling Fili's desire was going to be rather difficult, seeing as he could not be moved. How long can we wait before we have to hold a funeral? Bilbo felt a sharp pang in his heart when he realised that there was a very real possibility that Fili would not see them again. He would not let that possibility become a reality, not when he himself only had to walk a few meters to see them. "I promise," he repeated firmly.

Fili gave a shallow nod, his eyes heavy.

"I'll leave you to sleep," Bilbo said, feeling slightly bad that he was leaving the dwarf on his own, especially when he had just become aware of his families deaths. "Unless you would rather I stayed?" He added hastily.

Fili forcefully opened his eyes and stared at Bilbo wearily. "I think I'll be alright, thank you, Bilbo," He replied.

"If you are sure," Bilbo said as he used his hands and knees to rise to his feet. Something that Fili would never be able to do without help. Fili gave a half smile, his eyes still closed. Noticing the smile, Bilbo decided that Fili was sincere; he rose to his feet and dusted his knees. "Goodnight Fili."

Fili did not reply. Asleep Bilbo decided, and with that, he silently disappeared from the tent, and for the first time since the battle, he returned to his own, shared tent.

But Fili had not been asleep; he had only lowered his breath and gave off the illusion of sleep so the hobbit would feel comfortable leaving him. And he did not succumb to rest for another two hours and even then his sleep was haunted by dreams of his brother and uncles deaths. Only in his dreams, he was the one at fault. And he lived out his days ruling under Erebor with their shadows lingering behind him, ever whispering to him that he could have done something more, that he had failed them.

But of course, they were only dreams. Weren't they?


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot of this story. The details about how Dwarves bury their dead is based off Tolkien's own ideas and writing.**

 **A/NHello! Welcome to chapter 3, and thank you for clicking the next button.**

 **Anyways! If you would like to give me any feedback, you are most welcome. If I made you cry I want to know. Not just internally cry, but literally. If you felt nothing I want to know.**

 **Special thanks to RMorilivr!**

* * *

Chapter 3: Disputes, Agreements and Confusion

Dwarves were made from the rock, and it was to their belief that it would be to the rock they returned when they passed on, that Taurial knew; she also knew that even though dwarves were great miners, it took sufficient amount of time to prepare a stone tomb for one body for one body alone. It would take years to make a tomb for all those who had died in battle. Yet, it would seem the dwarves considered it dishonourable to bury one of their own in the earth, and even more so to leave them to be ravaged by orcs and eaten by birds, understandably.

When the she had seen the sun arise across the Lonely Mountain on the first day after the battle, there had been no way for the dwarves to bury their kin, so to fire they turned. With grievous arms, the strongest built pyres far from the campgrounds. The wood had come from the fallen trees, broken carts and whatever else they could salvage.

Sometime later they piled the carcasses of fallen orcs, goblins and other foul creatures at a second area. The pale orc and his son had not been among them, for it would cost too much strength to go and retrieve them. The pile of creatures had been lit first, and the flames had sprung up over the corpses like snakes, and the tongues had flickered against their flesh; burning away at it. It had taken most of that day; in fact, well past midday, for the bodies to be burnt, and the smell to clear. The smell had twisted at her nose.

Later that day, when the air had cleared and the orcs were burnt, her deceased kin, men and dwarves had been stripped of their armour and placed respectfully on their pyre. The wood had been piled so that there were layers for the dead to placed in. Those who had known the dead had gathered to watch the funeral; mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, friends and lovers. No one had been spared of losing someone. So, it did not go unnoticed that two important figures were missing from the pyres. Not at all.

Word had spread that Fili had awoken for the second time since the battle, when the second day had come. She had not seen him yet. She wasn't sure she could face him, knowing Kili had died to save her. So, she simply watches as the pyres were lit, and her kin burned. She wasn't sure if she liked fire or not, but she decided that is was neither good nor bad. It could craft the finest of metals, and destroy the mightiest of homes.

The smoke gave off a peculiar, almost foul smell that made your stomach twist and your mind lightheaded. Many wished to remain at the pyres so they might continue to pay their respects, but the smell of burning flesh soon proved to overbearing, and so the mourners bowed their heads once more and turned to leave as the sun began to rise.

She did not leave, and neither did Thranduil or Legolas. She felt pain; loss, hurt, grief, and even guilt. It hurt to love someone you could never again see or touch. It felt like loving something that didn't exist, like a good book. It cannot return that love, but you will always continue to love it just the same, never expecting anything back from it except the comfort and happiness it brought. It seemed though that she would not see Kili buried until a later date, when his brother could attend. Or at least that was what she had heard, but how they were going to defend the fallen dwarf prince and king from the course of nature she did not know.

As she, her King, and his heir departed from the pyre grounds, a greying figure began approaching them from the far northern side of the tent grounds staff wielded as a walking stick as he strode towards them.

"How very wizard like, always running about and placing chores on people, I wonder what he will ask of me now?" King Thranduil said, his voice riddled with satire, almost to the point where Legolas and Tauriel were uncertain if he was being serious or not. "What is Mithrandir?" he asked.

Gandalf stopped and lent on his staff. He passed her King a disapproving look. As the wizard was old, his ears were strong. King Thranduil, if I could ask one favour of you and your companions?" Gandalf asked humbly, though a sense of serious business lurked behind his calm tone.

King Thranduil nodded his consent.

"As I am sure you are aware, there are many problems around the mountain that need to be taken care of: food, funerals and such. And we have no way of attending to such matters. A council meeting is to be held this morning at eleven o'clock and I strongly advise you and your company to speak on behalf of your kingdom," Gandalf finished seriously.

"Always hidden meaning behind a wizard's humble tones," Thranduil trailed off, seeming satisfied about something. "We will attend this meeting, but do not think that I will be swayed into agreeing to anything."

Tauriel knew that this was all her king could thin of to say, for he did not know how to make amends, and neither did the ones he had wronged, for they had also wronged him. It was quite confusing, she thought, that no one was willing to forgive or ask for forgiveness themselves before the other did so first. She had realised long ago, that the feud between her King and the dwarves had to stop, peace had to be made. But how was it to be done?

It was Legolas that made the first move. "I pay my condolences to the Prince Fili; I hope he fares well."

Gandalf nodded once more and opened his mouth to speak. "The dwa-"

She interrupted, stepping away from her King and his heir. "I too hope Prince Fili fares well, and if my King will permit it, I would like to offer my services to aiding the wounded and Prince Fili in their recovery, and attend the council meeting."

Flustered by the proposal, there was a short silence amongst the other three.

"I permit it," a rich voice said.

All eyes turned to Thranduil: Legolas and herself in shock and surprise. Gandalf had a look of approval on his face. The King had not permitted her anything in quite a while, let alone for anyone else, especially when it concerned dwarves.

"Thank you, my King," she said, bowing in respect. "I shall go to them now."

As she began to leave her company, the wizard's aged hand reached for her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. Confusion spread across her face, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Though you have Thranduil's permission, you do not have the dwarves. Be careful about how you act, I suspect they will not allow you to help them so easily," Gandalf advised, letting his hand drop. "They know they require aid, but they are too stubborn to allow anyone to help them, let them know they can trust you," Gandalf finished, his voice soft but wise.

She considered this then nodded. "I shall try," she said, once again walking away from the two elves and the wizard. She would try; in fact, she was quite certain she would do more than that. She would succeed.

* * *

Tauriel cursed internally, she was just about ready to get up and go home to Mirkwood. When she had first approached Thorin's Company, less than 20 minutes ago, she believed that they would just need a bit of a nudge to allow her to help them. Over the cource of the last hour she had, in this order, offered her services in the proper polite manner, been denied; offered again, had a dwarf try to 'persuade' her to leave; almost lose all her patience; briefly wonder if she could just help their kin without their permission, decided against it and almost lost her patience entirely.

She had even gone as far as to ask that the healer, Oin, to state proof that she had in fact healed Kili of a fatal orc wound and had not made him worse. The healer had only nodded, seeming to have forgotten the praise he had given her at the time of the event. "Yes," he had said, "that is true…but…"

Again and again, this charade repeated: Trust was gained and proved, then forgotten and dismissed by misunderstanding and fear. They would not trust in elves for help so easily anymore.

This repetition annoyed her greatly but she did her best to keep a calm persona. "Why is it you refuse my help?" she asked, her voice serious. "You have no food, little supplies and your wounded lay suffering in numbers too large to count. Your sufferings will only worsen the more time that is spent lingering. You know you need help, but you are distrustful of those who offer it and you refuse. Please, for the sake of all of us, allow me to help you."

The dwarves shuffle on their feet; they glanced at each other in silent speech, all reading each other expressions. Dori looked doubtful but nodded then Nori and Oin. Dwalin passed a small nod to Bofur, who smiled optimistically.

"What have we to lose?" he asked, somewhat cheerfully.

"Not much," Dwalin replied. "But everything in the world if we don't accept," Dwalin said emotively.

And so, they agreed.

* * *

It had not taken Tauriel long to single out the two tents she was going to aid particularly, the sheer fact that guards had been placed outside the two tents gave off the impression that important figures lay within. She did not go to them straight away, but lingered around the opposite end of the tent grounds where most of the wounded lay suffering. She was shocked by the sheer number of wounded; she had known there where many, but to walk among them made their numbers seemed greater. She did not have any plant or cure with her that could help them just yet, so instead, she offered as much comfort as she could. She did her best to make the wounded more comfortable, and offered a few reassuring words here and there. She felt her heart ache for a small girl, held against her father, both bearing heavy red eyes. She recalled seeing them at the funeral that morning.

Once she reached the edge of then grounds, closest to the mountains, it became more obvious that the number of injured in the last two tents was fewer than the rest. They were close together, and those who near were made up of a few appointed guards and the more trusted of the surviving three armies: the skin changer, wizards and dwarf lords. They all looked rather tired as the morning sun stung at their tired eyes, staring at her suspiciously. Again, she shook her head at the distrust of the dwarves, but admired the protection that was shown towards the injured and dead kin.

 _Dead._ She stopped suddenly at the thought, her boots pressed firmly into the ground as the realisation that Kili was in fact dead sunk in. She had never denied it, just sort of pushed in the back of her mind, but every so often these past few days she had remembered at the most incidental moments: a head of brown hair, a cheerful laugh or smile. Anything that remotely reminded her of Kili would cause a brief period of anguish. Perhaps she should say her last goodbyes to him; it was certainly possible. However, fear- her age-old enemy, told her she should not, that she should forget him and that laying her eyes upon his lifeless body would only make her grief worsen.

Or maybe it would settle it.

Hesitantly, she approached the guarded entrance of the first tent. If it was Fili who laid inside, she would offer help to him and go to the council meeting. But if it was Kili… she decided she would lay her eyes on him one last time before the funeral, just once more before she had to say goodbye.

"Who are you and what are your intentions?" a curt voice questioned. It belonged to a particularly stocky looking dwarf with a prodigious nose that gave the impression that its owner liked to stick it in other people's business.

She took a step forward, towering over the dwarf- though that was not her intent. "I am Tauriel of Mirkwood, and I am to help and care for those who are injured, including the heir: Fili."

The dwarf did his best not to shrink back, and instead puffed out his chest. "It isn't the heir that is in there, and what right do you have?" The dwarf questioned. His hands were clasped firmly on the hilt of his axe, on which he leaned on. He was trying to give the impression that he could use it if he had too.

"If it is not Fili, I would like to pay my respects to the fallen. I have no proof of my right that I can show you, except my word that I have been given express permission by the company of Thorin Oakenshield and King Thranduil to aid the wounded," Taurial answered.

"And what good is your word?" The dwarf asked potently.

The distrust of elves was evidently, and definitely, a trait that ran strong throughout the entire race it seemed. Taurial would not have this argument again. "May I ask your name?"

Looking quite befuddled, the dwarf gave her a questioning look "Frár," he answered honestly. She wondered for a moment if Frár thought she had been bold enough to ask for his secret name, the name of which only he knew, and only he owned. It was considered scandalous for a dwarf to reveal their true Khuzdul name.

The confrontation seemed to have grabbed the attention of a few onlookers. Not much had happened since the battle— just death, wailing and suffering. So any form of entertainment was beginning to be welcomed into desperate arms. Not caring of the audience that had formed, she continued to speak, "do you have children Frár? Do you care for these people?"

Frár looked at her in suspicion, his eyes narrowing. "What is it to you?" He had become so ill at ease by this whole talk that his hands had moved to hold his axe hilt in a ready position as if he thought she was about to attack the very children of which she had inquired about.

"Would you enjoy seeing them suffer? Would you turn others away from seeing to them? Do you enjoy watching your people go untreated and unhealed?" she asked seriously.

Frár frowned from under his beard. "What do you mean by that, are you accusing me of not caring for my kin?"

Taurial shook her head once. "I am not accusing you of anything, I'm asking."

Frár straightened up and loosened the grip on his axe slightly. "Of course, I care," he said, eyes deep with sincerity. "Only one without a soul would feel so little."

"Then let me pass."

With his mouth slightly agape, Frár stared at her for a moment longer, before nodding and stepping aside.

So with an empty yet heavy feeling in her stomach, she willed her feet to move into the dimmed tent. _Is there any sense to this?_ She didn't quite know, but it wouldn't matter anyway. Once she had passed though the tent opening, she stood, unsure what she should do. There wasn't much she could do; so she kept her eyes firmly locked on the two forms that were lying motionless on the hard ground, their bodies cushioned by many cloths— a portion of the best that could be provided at the time she decided.

She stood still for a while, and when time seemed to slow she finally moved. She turned slowly on her heals before leaving the tent with a lump in her throat; her hair following behind her; red like the leaves of autumn. She had meant to go to Kili, to pay her respects before the funeral; to tell him that she loved him. But she could not. Again, the realisation that he was dead had dawned upon her, and it was as if she could not go to his body like she had when she had watched him die.

"You were not in their long," Frár commented as Tauriel emerged from the tent.

Tauriel stopped in her tracks, and did not look at him. Instead, she kept her eyes trained directly in front of her, hands tightened into fists at her side. A sickening feeling was riveting though her, and she wanted nothing more than to go to someone that she could actually do some help for. "I did not need to stay long," she replied in an oddly calm voice. Then she straightened herself up and begun to move forward again, this time towards the tent she now knew with complete certainty contained the crippled heir.

After several hesitant steps and a few reassuring strides, Tauriel found herself at the entrance to the tent closest to the mountain. This time, it was a young female dwarf that lay guard to the entrance of this particular tent. She had rounded features and toughened skin as all dwarf women did, and upon her jaw grew a thin brown beard, not as course as a male dwarf's, but still finely managed.

She gave a small smile to Tauriel and removed her hand from the mace at her side. "You need not explain yourself to me, I trust your word. Go on inside," She said kindly as she nodded her head towards the entrance.

So, inside the tent she went.

* * *

Fili had been mulling over the emotions boiling inside him. The night had not been easy, and he wanted nothing more than to give up. He felt so useless; he could not walk, he could barely move the rest of him, and he had let his family die. He couldn't even say goodbye to them. He was brought from his thoughts suddenly when the tent opened ever so slightly, allowing a small gust of wind to enter. It weaved its way towards him before it closed again. Carefully, he turned his head to see who had awoken him from his thoughts.

He frowned in confusion. Before him stood the elf maiden, Tauriel, the elf his brother had fallen for. Her fire-red hair was littered with knots from the outside world. He wondered if he had ever seen an elf with untidy hair before. He could not find a memory.

He looked at her silent for a moment more before Tauriel broke their silence, "I have come to check your wounds, Prince Fili," she said, bowing to him respectfully.

Nodding, he turned his head back so his eyes met the ceiling of the tent. He studied it more intensely as Tauriel walked towards him, her boots crunching against the dirt of the floor. He hitched his breath as she knelt next to him; he felt a hand come to rest gently on his shoulder.

"Fili, I'm going to turn you over slightly so I can see how your wound is fairing, is that alright?"

He nodded again, clenching his teeth as he felt his body weight shift onto his side, along with the dead weight of his legs. The feeling of the bandages being removed from his wound caused him to wince and shut his eyes in pain. He decided he better distract himself, somehow. "Why are you helping me?"

"I will not stand around and do nothing while others are in pain and dying," she answered simply as she worked.

He resisted the urge to nod, and instead allowed himself a small half smile under all the pain. "I can see why my brother liked you." He could recall Kili saying a similar phrase to their uncle during the battle, when they were inside of the mountain doing nothing. He had always been like that, never on to sit by as the word moved around him.

Tauriel paused for a moment, "He was very brave," she said simply, before resuming her work.

Looking around the room under squinted eyes, he pondered her words, wondering of which bravery she was referring too. Kili had always been brave in many ways, towards his Kin, and in the midst of battle. He wondered if he was the same in the face of death. He couldn't imagine his little brother facing such a thing, but no matter how he faced it, he would think no less of him. "Do you know how he died?" he asked suddenly.

He heard her breath hitch. "I was there,' she said after a moment.

"Can…can you tell me?" he asked slowly, feeling his eyes close in another sort of pain. Once again, he wasn't sure why he needed to know, but he did.

"I was told that when you fell, they all believed you to be dead, and when you fell before Kili he was overcome with rage and he went after the orc who almost felled you," Tauriel said before her own breath hitched.

Fili frowned, he could remember his brother running after he fell, this information was nothing new, but he couldn't help but give in a little more to the voices twisting around his heart, whispering that it was his fault Kili had run to his death.

As if sensing what he was thinking, Tauriel spoke again, "It is not you who is at fault, Prince Fili. His death…his death is on me. Your brother was fighting well before he heard me call his name. I was struck down by Bolg, Azog's son. Kili tried to help, but he…he was killed. He died bravely."

"He died for love," he replied, feeling a sense of pride for his brother, tinted with sadness. "You are not to blame Tauriel, my brother always reacted harshly when angered. You allowed him to fight for something other than revenge… Thank you."

He felt his body being turned back over, and he could once again see the elf maiden. He knew his brother had loved her greatly, he wondered if it was reciprocated. "Did you love my brother, truly?"

Tauriel met his gaze, "Yes, I did. I still do," she answered firmly.

He nodded in satisfaction.

Tauriel shuddered suddenly, before shaking her head. After a while she soon disappeared off somewhere else in the tent, before returning with a canister of water. Carefully she reached for his hair, before pausing. "Fili, is it alright if I wash your hair?" She asked tentatively.

Fili thought for a moment, such an act was normally reserved for Kin, but he supposed she was kin now. He nodded.

Tauriel began to gently pry the knots out of his hair, dried blood falling apart as her fingers carded through it. He winced as her fingers got stuck in a particularly large knot. "Fili, I think I'm going to need to cut some of them out," she said slowly.

Fili shook his head in panic. "No, please. Keep trying."

"Alright," she said, trying once again to rid his hair of the knots. She seemed to manage at getting a few more out, but her fingers kept stopping, caught in dreads of hair. It was dread that he, and probably Tauriel, felt.

"Fili, I really am going to have to cut some out, I promise I won't cut too much off."

Before he could protest, he heard the sound of a dagger being unsheathed, and then he felt his hair pull at his skull. He went rigid, his eyes closed tightly. Though, she was gentle, and managed to remove the last of the knots. He hoped he looked presentable, and it wasn't too short. He imagined he was short an inch or two of hair, with it only reaching just past his shoulders.

As Tauriel washed his hair, the tent suddenly opened to a gust of wind, tinted with smoke from the morning's pyres. He curled her nose at the smell, before realising something; he grew completely still, in shock. "Tauriel, where is that coming from. It's the second time I have smelt it. Gandalf said there was a fire…"

"There has been a funeral for the fallen, their bodies were burnt," she answered him.

He paniced; his breathing becoming quick as he tried to push himself up, "no… no, no. I haven't…. I haven't said goodbye," Fili said in-between panicked breaths.

Tauriel placed a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back down. "Relax, Prince Fili, they are not to be burnt. They are in the next tent."

Relaxing slightly, he allowed her to push him back down. "How…how long will they last?"

"I don't know. Though I believe Gandalf and Thranduil are going to try and use their magic to keep in a frozen state," Tauriel answered, understanding Fili's worry. A body could only last so long, and it had already been several days since they passed. And in Fili's current state, he had every right to be worried.

"Why didn't they do that with all the deceased?" he inquired.

Tauriel set the washbowl aside and began to separate the strands of clean hair. "Magic can only be stretched so far. There were too many fallen; the others have said their farewells," she answered.

"Have you?"

She nodded.

He realised something, there were many others that had survived, most of which injured. H "Wait a moment, if the wounded are also so many, why am I the only one in this tent? There is so much room," he said, confused. It had been a while since he was set higher than others.

"We thought it best for you to have your own privacy," she replied

He frowned, disgusted. "I shouldn't be given special privilege because of my status when there are so many outside in the cold and in pain who could easily fit inside this tent."

Tauriel nodded, "I shall inform the others of such, which reminds me, I have a council meeting to attend. I must go now," Tauriel said, rising to her feet suddenly. "Goodbye Fili," she said, turning on her heels and exiting the tent.

Once again, Fili found himself left to his thoughts and their taunts. He closed his eyes; perhaps sleep would stop them.

But of course, it never did.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot of this story. The details about how Dwarves bury their dead is based off Tolkien's own ideas and writing.**

 **A/N Hello! Welcome to chapter 4, and thank you for clicking the next button.**

 **I've taken some creative license for the sake of plot on how damaged the mountain is.**

* * *

Chapter 4: Council Meetings

Council meetings are usually formal affairs where each party or participant politely states their ideas or opinions over the matter at hand, and then come to a decision or conclusion about what to do about it. Or at least that's what Bilbo had come to believe they were.

The council of Erebor, as it was being called, was none of these things. Within a matter of minutes of it beginning the real issues had been forgotten to make way for bickering and insults. It had started when Lord Dain had insulted the elven King's burnt face, which was apparently visible due to his magic being focussed elsewhere. Thranduil had then threatened to remove his magic from the fallen if it was bothering the dwarf so much. This had caused an uproar among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Meanwhile, Legolas, Bard and Gandalf were slumped down in the makeshift chairs, heads in their hands while Tauriel and himself looked over Ori's shoulder, who was frantically attempting to record everything being said.

"Are you getting all of this?"

Ori promptly wrote the question down, "Yes," he answered, writing that down to.

Bilbo, having witnessed quite a few of these arguments between the dwarves and elves, knew that if he didn't act soon, they would soon start another war. Summoning his courage, he stood up and promptly slammed the nearest object on the tent-table, which he realised to late was Ori's book.

The scribe gave him a scandalous look.

"Right!" he said firmly, "You all need to put your differences aside for the moment and focus on the matters at hand; not squabble around like children. You should be ashamed of yourselves, fighting so soon after a war." He paused, trying not to be discouraged by the variety of looks he was receiving. "These are our issues: were low on food and supplies, Bard and King Thranduil need to be paid, the dwarves from the Blue Mountains are going to arrive soon and we need to bury Thorin and Kili, and we can't do that until Fili is fit enough to attend. We need shelter for those without a tent, but to do any of these things we need to rebuild and open up some of the mountain, which we can't do without people getting stronger, and more people at that. Yet, for people to regain their strength we need supplies."

The council stared at him, all with varying degrees of shock. He shuffled uncomfortably, feeling all eyes on him. Perhaps he had said too much, or spoke to fast. He looked over and saw that Ori's handwriting had become a scrawl, yet he seemed to be keeping up. He was about to sit down, when an unexpected voice broke the silence.

Thranduil's voice.

"We have plentiful amounts of supplies in Mirkwood, and many more Elves," the elven King said, meeting his eyes.

The others looked at him in surprise, and some in suspicion.

"What do you ask for in return?" he asked, already knowing the answer. He just hoped this could be solved faster and without more bloodshed this time round. Too long had this feud being going on.

"You know what it is I desire," Thranduil answered, his eyes glistening with the light of the gems he craved so much.

Balin shook his head, "we cannot pay you as of yet, but we will. The tunnel leading to the gold has collapsed."

Thranduil thought for a moment, before frowning, "Then I can n- "

"I will give you my own share of supplies and my own elven guard, you can pay my father when it's possible," said Legolas.

The room froze again, almost overwhelmed by the unexpectedness of the elves. Bilbo wondered when the Greenleaf's had begun to feel such a change of heart.

Dwalin eyes him suspiciously, "can we hold you to your word?"

Legolas nodded in confirmation, meeting Dwalin's eye.

"Then we accept," Bilbo said hastily, not wanting any doubt or hesitance to emerge.

All eyes turned to Bard expectantly, who was sitting on Thranduil's left.

"I cannot order the men and women to help you until I have my promised pay, but if you ask those who are still strong, I am sure they will accept. They too want their home back. Both Dale and Laketown," Bard said firmly.

The council nodded in acceptance. "You will receive what is promised," Bilbo said, feeling hope for the first time since the battle. When Legolas and Bard's men got to work, they would be able to start work on the mountain, and perhaps even rebuild it once the dwarves of the Blue Mountains Arrived. Supplies were now promised, and the strong could also begin to hunt and farm for more if needed. Once the gold chambers were uncovered they could pay the two Kings. He smiled to himself, and once again felt a shiver, this time on his shoulder. He shook underneath it. It lingered for a moment, before disappearing.

Suddenly, he realised another thing. "We still need to hold a proper funeral for Thorin and Kili," he said, breath shaking.

The dwarves looked at each other nervously. "We need a King, our king, to make those final decisions," Balin said slowly.

He frowned in confusion, "but Thorin is…"

"I speak of Fili. The throne is his now… Once he is properly coroneted," Balin corrected.

A silence hung among the council, an eery one.

"He's to young… Far too young for such a burden," Dwalin said, head in his hands.

"So was Thorin," replied Balin.

Dwalin met his brother's eyes with a serious look, "aye, but he is not Thorin. Fili is just as strong, just as loyal and honourable as Thorin, but he does not need to carry the same burden as he did."

Bilbo shuffled uncomfortably, the shiver on his shoulder had returned, this time more strongly. He had heard from Balin himself of how Thorin had led his people and given them a new home, all the while the same age Fili was now. He sighed, "he will be a good King; and excellent one."

"Aye, but will he be a good King _now_ , in his current state; at his age?" Dain questioned.

They all knew what he was referring to, Fili had not only lost his legs, but his Kin. They knew how that would be affecting him physically and mentally.

"Dain could be King," Balin suggested.

Dain shook his head, "can't do that without the current heir giving me the right," he replied, "but I can stand in his place until he ready to decide."

Another silence filled the tent. The dwarves looked at each other, in a knowing way. Bilbo too felt he knew what they were thinking. Fili would not refuse the crown, not for selfish reasons, but because he wouldn't want to let anyone down, dead or alive. He would believe he had failed his duty.

"We shall wait until Prince Fili is fit enough to decide what path he wants to choose before we do anything with the dead, or the crown," Balin decided.

Gandalf cleared his throat, speaking finally. "There maybe someone I know who can speed up his healing, and perhaps even a little more than that."

"Can they be trusted?" Dwalin asked.

"More than anybody else in this realm," Gandalf replied firmly.

The others stared in amazement, except Thranduil, who leant back in his chair. "I do think I know whom you are talking about," he said confidently.

Gandalf gave him a look that said _do not say anything_.

Thranduil shrugged.

Shaking his head, Bilbo spoke up again. "Nevertheless, we need to find a way for Fili to be mobile in the coming days. Every day he grows stronger, and the urge to move grows with it. Even without the assistance of these healers you speak of, Gandalf." He ad promised Fili that he would be able to see his family before they were buried, and he intended to keep that promise. It seemed to be more possible every day, for Fili was able to move his torso more and more. Soon he would be able to sit up without too much struggle.

There were more nods of agreement among the company of dwarves, and even a few from Thranduil and Legolas.

Gandalf, however, was shaking his head. "I cannot leave whilst my arm is broken, and I need to focus my magic on the fallen, so healing it quickly is not an option."

Thranduil sighed slightly before meeting Gandalf's eyes. "I will focus all of my magic on them, Mithrandir. You heal your arm, and find Glor- find whom you speak of," Thranduil said slowly, almost as if he did not believe his own words.

Legolas looked to his father in concern, "Adar, you scar…" he said, suddenly seeming very childlike.

Thranduil shook his head, "It is not important," he replied reassuringly, though his face betrayed him.

The dwarves wondered what he was speaking off, they could see his scar now. Perhaps it stretched further then they thought…

Suddenly, Ori set down his quill. "I need to say two things," he said. "One, I need you all to sign witness to these agreements, for insurance purposes of course. Second, If the first room we open up in Erebor is the burial chamber, Thorin and Kili may be buried when Fili is able to attend. That way King Thranduil and Gandalf can focus their magic to other needs."

Dori and Nori looked to their little brother with varying degrees of surprise and pride over his sudden confidence.

"Yes, yes I think that could work," said Bilbo, nodding as he went over what the scribe had said.

Bard looked to Thranduil, who in turn gave him a silent nod. They seemed to have learnt to communicate with each other with such subtle cues as of late; they were growing quite close. "Of course, we will sign witness to our agreements," said Bard, still meeting Thranduil's eyes.

Legolas looked between the both of them with squinted eyes.

Tauriel, who had remained silent throughout the whole exchanges, spoke up. "I spoke to Prince Fili earlier, he expressed to me that he wished to make some changes," she waited for everyone's attention, particularly the dwarves, before continuing. "He wishes for those without a tent and in the most need of one to be moved into his, and any other available tent. He did not think he should be given special privileges while others slept outside, frozen and in pain."

The dwarves muttered amongst each other for a moment. This kind of idea wasn't out of the ordinary for Fili, but they had concerns it would seem. After a bit more discussing, they came to a conclusion. They looked back to Tauriel, "Let him know we agree, we will make sure those who need it most are given shelter," said Balin.

Tauriel nodded in satisfaction.

Knowing that there was not much left to discuss, and if they continued any longer they would without doubt return to bickering amongst themselves, Bilbo rose to his feet. "Right, now that's all out of the way, I suggest we get to work."

And to work they went.

* * *

Fili awoke from his fitful sleep, like he had the last few days, many hours after he last subcommand to the heaviness of his eyelids; he was not alone. He knew this because he could hear the steady, and some unsteady breath of those who were asleep. For a brief moment, he thought he was back with the company on the road with his uncle and brother, and that all had just been a terrible dream. He soon realised with a heavy heart that this was not the case. The breathing didn't belong to anybody he knew, for he had grown unaccustomed to the sounds of his fellow company's breathing in their travels, and could pinpoint who they belonged to individually, as one could when they spent large amounts of time around each other.

 _They must have moved people into the tent,_ Fili realised. He sighed, closing his eyes again.

"What is wrong with you?" a small, childlike voice asked in the darkness.

Fili frowned slightly before propping himself up on his elbows, which was becoming increasingly easier. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he scanned the tent around him. He was right, there were several people in the tent, with all sorts of different injuries; they were all asleep, except for one.

There in the corner of the room, with her small knees drawn up, was a small human girl, no older than seven or eight. Fili could see that she had a large cut running from the right side of her skull to cheek, the hair surrounding it removed to make way for the stitches. A shocking contrast to the long hair on the other side of her head. Suddenly, Fili felt quite silly for being so emotional over losing no more than an inch or two of his own hair. She seemed to have many other cuts and bruises, but none seemed to be too serious. Yet, she was still too young to have faced such a battle.

"Pardon?" he asked.

She tilted her head, her large eyes staring. "You have been tossing and turning for hours. Pa said you were having night terrors. Where you having night terrors Master Dwarf?"

Fili gave her a small half-smile and raised his eyebrow. "Yes, I suppose I have been having night terrors, little one."

She nodded her head in a serious fashion, "So have I, Pa says they're not real, but they all happened. In the last one an orc ran at me with his knife and did this," she gestured to her head. "But a nice dwarf like you came and stuck him, like this," she said, miming how the orc had been 'stuck.'

Fili frowned, to think what this little girl must have gone through. He was truly grateful to whoever that dwarf was. "You must be very brave," Fili said honestly, trying to shake off another wave of the strange tingling sensation.

The little girl gave him a curious look, "What's your name? Pa says you're a prince, are you a prince?"

Fili chuckled under his breath at the nosiness of children. "My name is Fili, and yes I am a prince," he answered honestly.

She nodded in satisfaction, before holding out her hand, "my name is Ari, a pleasure to meet you Prince Fili."

Smiling, Fili, with a bit of difficulty, took her small hand and shook it, somewhat familiar with the human custom. "Fili, at your service," Fili said, releasing her hand; slightly unsure if that was the correct response. By the look on Ari's face, he guessed not.

She sat for a moment before moving to sit with her legs crossed, "I'm eight now. How old are you?"

He raised an eyebrow, "eighty-two."

Her eyes widened; Fili imagined this sort of fact completely bewildered her young an inexperienced mind, for she had mostly likely not met a dwarf, hobbit or even elf before the battle. "You can't be; you don't have grey hair! My grandpa was seventy and his hair is grey all over." she protested.

He chuckled again, "I suppose Dwarves and Humans age differently."

Ari seemed to think this over for a moment, before nodding, apparently accepting this explanation. She remained silent for a few minutes, fiddling with the hem of her skirt.

Thinking that was the end of the conversation, he went to lie back down.

"What are your night terrors about?" she asked, staring at the ground.

It was apparently not the end of the conversation.

"I lost some people I love," Fili answered simply, ignoring the tingling sensation that enveloped his shoulders; not wanting to share any details with ears that were far too young, no matter what they had seen.

She shuffled herself a bit closer, "I lost my mother in the battle, I saw it happen," she said quietly.

He felt his heart drop to his stomach like a dead weight. Carefully, he stretched out a hand and placed it on her shoulder comfortingly. "I'm sorry you had to go through such a thing, little one," he said softly.

She nodded solemnly before her eyes snapped to how Fili was supporting himself. "Pa says you can't feel your legs? Is that true?" she asked, looking quite concerned.

"I'm afraid so little one," he answered, before chuckling when he saw Ari poke at his leg experimentally.

"Did you feel that?" she asked.

Fili shook his head, "no, not a thing," he said, trying not to sound as though he was bothered by this fact, not wanting to worry her.

Before Ari could reply, another person woke. An aging man, and going by the resemblance, most likely Ari's father. This speculation was confirmed when the man's eyes landed on Ari, sitting by the prince. Hastily, but gently he put his un-injured hand on her shoulder and ushered her back.

"You should be asleep Ari, come on. Back to bed," the man said.

Ari looked at her father before turning to face Fili, "goodnight Prince Fili, sleep well," she said before heading to her own 'bed'.

He smiled and nodded, "goodnight Ari," he replied, before turning to greet the man.

Ari's father smiled sheepishly, trying to give an awkward bow from where he was half sitting, half lying down. "I'm sorry if she was disturbing your sleep, Prince Fili," he said respectfully.

He shook his head, "she was not. I was already awake, and I believe she needed to share her troubles with someone," he said honestly.

Ari's father nodded before turning to go back to sleep.

Fili did the same, easing himself onto his back, already half asleep.

And if it was said that Fili's sleep was less troubled by nightmares that night, it would be a truth.

* * *

Due to the large amount of work that had been occurring in and around the mountain and the surrounding areas, The Company of Thorin Oakenshield had been unable to visit Fili since they had last seen him: unconscious and barely alive. Three days had passed (or possibly four for they had not been paying attention) since Fili had regained consciousness for the first time, and two since the council meeting. Now that Fili was conscious for most of the day, and very much alive, Dwalin thought they should pay him a visit.

Before they could do this, however, Bofur, who was looking very excited, had come galumphing towards them with his hat in his hands. "Lads, I've had an idea," he stated.

The company groaned. It was not the first time Bofur has said this, and on previous occasionsnit had led to the Company getting stuck in rainstorms, Thorin getting lost three times, and a broken toe. Needless to say, they were sceptical.

"This should be good," called Nori, empathising what the others were thinking.

Bofur shook his head, "no, no. I was passing by a wheelbarrow which was carrying a chair when suddenly I had an idea as to how we get Fili mobile, possibly even on horseback," Bofur said, replacing his hat with a broad smile on his face.

Dwalin looked at him in surprise, as Bofur's ideas go, this wasn't too outrageous. He always seemed to come up with strange ideas just by looking and two or three random objects, hearing something being said or being done.

Balin stepped forward, "How exactly does this plan work?" he asked, intrigued, but wisely hesitant.

Grinning, Bofur took out a roll of parchment from his coat. "I've drawn some sketches up to show my idea," he explained as the others crowded round to get a look at this _idea._ On the parchment, was two separate sketches, each carefully labelled with surrounding notes.

Dwalin looked up from the parchment and to Bofur, who was still grinning ear to ear. "You sure this will work laddie?" he asked. He thought the _two_ ideas were brilliant, but the matter of them working was a different case. He couldn't bear to disappoint the lad further with false hope if they shared these ideas and the proved to not work.

Nodding, Bofur took the roll of parchment back, shoving it safely back into his coat. "Aye, I'm certain. It will only be a matter of getting the Lad to practice with them so he can use them to their full effect. I've already sent the designs off to be made, even the Elves are helping."

Are they now," Dwalin said, raising an eyebrow. "Well then, what are we waiting for?"

* * *

Fili had been overjoyed when his fellow company had come to visit him, it had felt like an eternity since he had last seen one of them. When they first saw him, he was propped up on some pillows, and Bilbo had to fight Dwalin and Bofur away from Fili in order to prevent him suffocating from their embraces. They had all been a bit gentler after that, for none of them wanted to face the wrath of their burglar, or risk injuring him further.

He was also quite glad to hear that peace had been made between his kin, the elves and people of lake town. His gladness was improved when he was informed of the progress that had been made in rebuilding Erebor and the surrounding areas: Lake-town, Dale, and such. After the arrival of Legolas's men, with the added strength of the surviving people of lake town, the front gate was beginning to regain its former shape, and hunting parties had been established. It was still being decided how to approach the collapsed tunnels, but progress was progress.

However, during the time that the company had been talking to him, he had noticed they seemed to be directly avoiding looking at his legs, let alone mentioning them and his family. He supposed this was because they did not know how to approach the subject, and it seemed politer not to stare. He found it funny that when people try to continue on as if nothing is wrong and act normal, only to make it more obvious that something was indeed wrong.

Nevertheless, he understood what they were trying to do, and appreciated it. However, he decided he wanted to bring some attention to the subject. "Will I be able to see them soon?" he inquired, interrupting Ori's word to word account on how the council meeting had gone.

The Company seemed to share glances with each other, and Fili, for once, could not read them. "What? What is wrong?" he asked, suddenly worried.

Suddenly, they seemed to grin at each other, causing him to frown in confusion, unsure what they could possibly be smiling over. _Unless…_

"Nothing is wrong lad," Bofur said, shaking his head as he smiled. He shuffled forward so he could sit next to him, before removing a piece of parchment from his coat pocket. Carefully, he unravelled it and held it in front of them.

Never in his life, had Fili seen what was sketched on Bofur's parchment. There were two sketches. The first one seemed to illustrate a thin, armed chair. suspended by two large wheels. It seemed to also bear a foot panel and separate compartments. Fili read the labels, according to them, they would hold weapons and other necessities. The thinness of the chair and the ability to rotate the wheels in different directions would allow him to move quickly and swiftly, apparently.

"I call it a 'wheelchair'," Bofur said, grinning.

Fili nodded, half smiling. He wasn't sure of this idea, he trusted it would allow him to move, but to fight? To move over long distances? He couldn't imagine it. He moved his eyes onto the next image, and they grew wide.

The second image illustrated a pony, fitted with an odd looking saddle. The notes read that the pony would be trained by elves to respond to focus, and voice. Apparently, it would not even need a bridle or halter to be guided. The saddle itself seemed to show a higher cantle, sitting slightly higher than the pommel of the saddle, but not unbalancing it. The saddle flaps seemed to have extra padding around the edges, as well as some straps. Apparently, he would be able to release them in an emergency, but they would give extra support until he found his balance. The saddle was even made to hold his weapons, just as the chair did.

Trust Bofur and some Elves to come up with something like this. A chair with wheels and a pony with no need for reins or legs, just voice and focus. Though he felt sceptical, he had seen the elves ride in such a way. He felt a little bit of hope in his chest. He smiled. "Thank you Bofur, these are wonderful," he said.

Bofur nodded, "It's no trouble lad, although neither are ready yet. They chair wont be ready for a week or two, the pony and saddle a little longer. But they will come," he said reassuringly, returning the parchment to his coat.

"Gandalf is also leaving once his arm is healed so he can find someone, someone who might be able to help you a little bit," Bilbo added in.

He frowned, "what about- "

"You needn't worry, Thranduil is using all of his magic in Gandalf's stead," he finished.

The prince was surprised to hear this. He had heard that Thranduil had been acting odd, but he had been unsure of this himself. Now, however, after everything he had heard, it seemed to be true.

"Oh, and lad, you should know," Dwalin said suddenly, unfolding his arms from where he had been sitting. "The dwarves from the Blue Mountains are almost here, including your mother."

Fili felt his heart drop. His mother…. _How can I face her? After all, that I have done…_ he thought. _Her only surviving family, and I …it is my fault._ The voices in his head continued to whisper words into his soul. He closed his eyes, "I wish to be alone," he said, not looking to the others.

He heard nothing for a moment, then suddenly there was a shuffling and he heard his company leave the tent, whispering words of goodbye and healing. He was left to his thoughts. Not quite alone, for there was still some residing in the tent with him. But alone nonetheless, only hearing the voices that he heard in his head, whispering words of betrayal and failure. Thorin and Kili's voices.

The voices he took for truth.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot of this story. The details about how Dwarves bury their dead is based off Tolkien's own ideas and writing.

A/N

Hello! Welcome to chapter 5, and thank you for clicking the next button.

Anyways! If you would like to give me any feedback, you are most welcome. If I made you cry I want to know. Not just internally cry, but literally. If you felt nothing, I want to know.

* * *

Chapter 5: Moving Forward, literally.

Ten days had passed since Gandalf had begun to mend his arm, and ten days since the battle; it would seem he no longer needed to do so. The minute he had found he was capable of moving his once broken arm, he had packed enough for a hard journey. He planned to take a horse as far as Beorn's house, whom he would leave it with, then as he had arranged with Gwaihir, the King of the Eagles, he would be flow to Eriador and back again. He wondered if it would be the last time he could ask for such a favour by the great winged creatures.

As he readied his horse, at the very, as the very breaks of day, he was accompanied by none other than Bilbo Baggins himself. The disheartened Hobbit had been spending a significant amount of time in the fallen's tent, and Gandalf had begun to worry that the Hobbit's loss would weigh too heavy on his heart, causing him to become cold and empty. Yet, the Hobbit had begun spending his time doing all he could to help those around him since the battle.

""Who is it you are seeking, Gandalf?" Bilbo asked, curiosity written all over his face.

Gandalf tightened the girth of his saddle, "his name is Glorfindel's," he answered simply.

"That's an Elvish name," Bilbo said.

Gandalf nodded, "It is," he said as he adjusted the horse's bridle.

Bilbo nodded, "and he is to help Fili?"

Gandalf resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the _Hobbit. Have I not gone over the pointlessness of asking questions for the sake of asking them?_ "If I can find him, and If he agrees to help."

"What if he doesn't agree?" The hobbit asked.

Gandalf gave the burglar a dubious look, "We best hope he does," he answered, placing his pointed hat atop his head, adjusting it slightly. "If he does not, I fear for Fili's recovery. Both of the body, and the heart. Now, have you finished asking questions, Bilbo, or am I to reside here forever?" the grey wizard asked, his voice unreadable.

Bilbo frowned. "Yes, I have finished, be on your way, Gandalf," he replied, gesturing to the horizon with a wave of his hand.

With that, the wizard swung himself into the saddle and gathered the reins in his hands. "Farewell, Bilbo Baggins," he said before thundering off, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

Bilbo swallowed. He imagined that without the wizard surveying the camp sight, disorder might soon break out, as it had on a good many other occasions the wizard had left the company to fend for themselves. He hoped that nothing involving further destruction or loss would emerge.

Bilbo frowned at the wizard's bluntness. "Yes, I have finished, be on your way, Gandalf," he replied, gesturing to the horizon with a wave of his hand.

With that, the wizard swung himself into the saddle and gathered the reins in his hands. "Farewell, Bilbo Baggins," he said, before thundering off, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

* * *

Bilbo swallowed. He imagined that without the wizard surveying the camp sight, disorder would soon break out, as it had on a good many other occasions the wizard had left the company to fend for themselves. He hoped that nothing involving further loss or destruction would emerge.

Shaking his head, Bilbo made his way back to the mountain. Reconstruction of the tunnels and passageways was underway. It would be a while yet before the mountain regained its full glory, but the tunnels leading to the burial chambers, bed chambers and the Treasury were almost complete. There were still many things to be repaired aesthetically, tapestries to be rehung, stone dwarves to be rebuilt, marble to be polished, but it was a start, and they could wait until their numbers grew.

As his feet carried him through the marble halls, this time without the distraction of a rage filled dragon on his tail, he was able to pay closer attention to the details that filled the once bustling halls. The marble and rock that made up the walls was riddled with gold ore and emeralds, not yet mined; he could see them glistening in the light of the now lit torches. Along the main walls was the written history of the mountain, carefully carved in runes in the secret language of the Dwarves. He could read a little bit of it as the company had been kind enough to teach him some, but not much. It was after all, secret. It seemed to speak of the history of each individual section of the mountain, but he couldn't be sure.

Slowly, wishing to take his time, Bilbo made his way to where he knew Bofur would be working, the toymaker's hands carefully crafting what would be Fili's new mode of transportation. He could see him now, darting here and there around his makeshift workshop for one reason or another. As Bilbo approached, he could see that Bofur had so far constructed the general frame of the chair, and he was currently working on shaping the wheels and the axles to go with them.

He cleared his throat, not wishing to startle the Dwarf. Bofur spun around, his hat falling off to the side as he did so.

"Bilbo!" he exclaimed, before enveloping his friend in a hug. "I thought you'd left," the dwarf said in surprise, but not at all seeming disappointed that his speculations had been proven wrong.

"No, I'm still here. I apologise for not coming to see you sooner, but the past three days I have been wandering all about the place, helping if I can," the hobbit explained.

With a pleased smile, Bofur rested a hand on the hobbit's shoulder, "glad to hear so, lad. I hadn't seen you since the council meeting and assumed you had left, glad to see I was wrong," the dwarf responded.

"I'm not leaving yet. I can't. Not until everything is sorted," the hobbit said, before looking quite anxious, "or for as long as I am welcome of course," he added hastily.

Bofur shook his head, not yet removing his hand from Bilbo's shoulder. "Nonsense, lad. You're one of us now; you can stay as long as you like," the toymaker said in reassurance.

Bilbo smiled at the dwarf. He was the first out of the company to welcome him with open arms, followed by Fili and Kili. Bofur had reassured him that he was a part of the company time and time again, and Bilbo could never seem to slip away unnoticed by the dwarf, and if he got lost in a kerfuffle, Bofur had always been the first to notice.

"I'm glad to hear that Bofur," Bilbo said, taking a seat. "Now tell me, how is this chair going?"

* * *

Fili was standing.

He didn't quite know how, but he also didn't know where he was or how he got there. He simply appeared in the underground tunnels of Ravenhill, only there was not an orc in sight. In a mixture of curiosity and fear, the Dwarf Prince stepped forward. Or at least he tried to. He found he could move his feet, but they did not carry him anywhere. He seemed to float over a single spot, his feet desperately trying to move forward even an inch. He was stuck there. Suddenly, sounds of grunting and shuffling could be heard within the tunnels, followed by the haunting light of torches. Fili felt his heart stop, and panic began to rise in his chest. His attempts to move forward became more desperate, and a feeling of being closed in settled in his heart, causing his muscles to tighten in fright.

"Fili," a deep, familiar voice said, ceasing the grunts and lights.

The Prince spun around, only to find himself no longer in the tunnels, but at the ravine where he fell. Snow began to form at his feet and he felt his legs grow weak where he stood. Breathing unevenly, his eyes darted about in search of the source of the voice. He knew exactly who had spoken. But he dared not believe it. He feared to, for what he might say.

Suddenly, his eyes landed on a familiar figure, a meter away from where he stood. His eyes were cold and his hair was dark. He stood with his arms at his sides, unmoving. Thorin.

A breath of shock left Fili's mouth. "Uncle-"

"Fili, you have failed me," Thorin interrupted, his voice with a new coldness to it. "You let your Kin and me down. You are nothing but a disappointment," he said, scowling, emotionless.

Fili let out a sob of anguish, collapsing to his knees that were no longer able to support him. " _I'm sorry uncle, I'm so sorry._ " he cried, looking into the merciless eyes of his uncle, begging for forgiveness.

Thorin shook his head, beginning to walk away from where Fili kneeled. "you are no nephew of mine," he said, turning his back.

Desperately, Fili called out for his uncle to return as he disappeared from view, leaving him, frozen at the bottom of Ravenhill.

"You let us die, Fili," another voice called, this one younger and with more emotion, but once again not quite how he remembered it.

Fili's head shot up to where the voice had come from. Standing before him, with messy brown hair and a wound in his abdomen, was his little brother. His poor, dead little brother. Curiously, the wound wasn't what bothered Fili the most, but the absence of Kili's lopsided smile, bright enough to light up the darkest of times. Until it was no longer able.

"Kili," he cried, desperately wanting to reach out for his brother. Kili showed no sign of movement, he simply stared at him with cold, dead eyes.

"How could you let us die, Fee? How could you let _me_ die?" Kili asked, his own voice cracking.

Fili shook his head frantically, shrinking back into himself. He could feel the tingling sensation again, this time it felt like pulling. "Kili, please- "

Suddenly Kili's face grew dark, "You let us die!" he all but screamed, bending over so he was face to face with Fili. "You are the reason I am dead, Fili," he said, almost whispering now.

Fili buried his face in his hands, curling into himself as much as he could, the pulling feeling growing stronger. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." he said, over and over again.

"Fili, this isn't real," Kili said firmly, but in a far away voice. Although, this time he sounded like himself.

The prince looked up curiously. He saw nothing—nothing but white.

A moment later he felt himself being pulled away, the tingling sensation ceasing, only to be replaced by a terrible strain in his chest. He felt himself lying on his back, his shoulder being shoved roughly as his chest heaved. Through ragged breaths, Fili opened his eyes; they met with the dark emptiness of the tent. It was just a dream, he realised; _a nightmare_.

 _But it felt so real._

"You gave us quite a scare, Prince Fili," a new, feminine voice stated, seemingly coming from nowhere.

As his eyes adjusted, Fili looked around the tent. Before long, his eyes landed on a Dwarven figure. A Dwarrodam. For a breath, shocking moment, he thought it was his mother. But she was miles away, and this dwarf had lighter hair, still darker than his own, but not as black as his mothers. He couldn't see what colour her eyes were, but he could make out her features, young and slightly rounded. Fastened to her right hip, like many Dwarrodam's, was a deadly mace.

"You were having a night-terror, Master Dwarf," a younger voice called. Ari. "You were tossing and turning and I couldn't wake you, then you started whaling all so terribly, so the guard who stood outside the tent came inside," she explained, looking quite concerned.

It was only now that Fili realised he was drenched in sweat, and his chest was still rising and falling frantically. He imagined he looked a sorry state: hair unbraided and clothes that had been worn for days without a wash. He sat up, propping his back against the provided pillows. "Thank you, Ari. You can go back to sleep," he said, offering a weak smile. After Ari had returned to her spot in the tent, where many other souls were now awake, Fili turned his eyes back to the Dwarrodam. She was looking at him curiously.

"I'm sorry for the horrors that ail your sleep, Prince Fili," she said, not knowing what else to say.

Fili shook his head, "It is not your fault," he said, offering a weak smile. It did not last, for as he did this, the contents of his dreams flooded his mind, taunting him once again. Curiously, however, the last words he had heard still echoed in his mind, and even in his heart. Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he asked the Dwarrodam for her name.

She raised an eyebrow. It was not protocol for a Prince or Commander to know the names of his guards and soldiers, but those who did bother to inquire about such things were always more respected as leaders. "Róskva," she answered. "Just Róskva."

A small frown flickered across Fili's face for a flicker of a moment, by it dispersed immediately as he did not wish to offend Róskva. It was rare for a dwarf to have no family ties, it was rare for dwarves to leave their children willingly, particularly if they were female as they were far less common. It was very likely that her parents had perished before a name could be given. Carefully, Fili nodded his head to her, "Fili, at your service," he said.

Róskva bowed her head in acknowledgment and respect, "Róskva, at yours," she replied. Her eyes seemed to study Fili for a moment, and a frown line appeared along her forehead, "What troubles you at this hour, Prince Fili?" She inquired, keeping her voice level and calm.

A cloud of fog appeared over Fili's eyes, and he began a faraway stare. He closed his eyes in stress, his body beginning to shake. "It is not something I wish to share," he said, sounding very cold and distant.

Not knowing what else to do, Róskva bowed her head once more, a feeling of worry overcoming her. So quickly the dwarf Prince changed moods. He was shaking with fear one minute, then speaking kindly the next; only to fall into a cold daze before her very eyes. "Then I bid you goodnight, Prince Fili. Call out to me if you need any assistance," she said, rising to her feet. With purposeful steps, she left the tent and resumed her post. There were many hours of the night still to come.

* * *

Over the last fourteen days, the fourteen days since Fili lost everything, including his legs, he had internally denied the fact that he could not walk; that he would never do so again. The Dwarf Prince had simply allowed himself to be eased by the idea that it was just a simple injury, and he wasn't allowed to move until it had healed. It was not far from the truth, but it was not, in fact, the truth. Denial had also spread to other grievances in Fili's life in the past few days: Thorin and Fili's deaths. He had been denying that too. Fili had found that denial was a simpler and easier solution to dealing with terrible ordeals then having to face them for what they were. This was not an uncommon thing to do, but it had horrible consequences.

On the fourteenth day, however, just after 11:00 in the morning, Fili was forced to face the truth of his ordeals. This was largely due to the fact that only half an hour earlier, while Fili was busy discussing the best way to braid hair with Ari, Bofur had burst through the tent pushing a wheeled chair, followed by Bilbo and Dwalin (and he assumed the rest of his uncle's company), all wearing a variety of emotions on their faces.

After a bit of manoeuvring, Fili had eventually been settled onto the chair, where he still sat, thinking. The others looked at him expectantly.

He did not know what to say. A part of him was glad for the sudden opportunity for freedom and movement. There was only so long that one person could stay inside a tent, only being able to leave with assistance to relieve himself or soak up a bit of sun. A larger part of him, however, felt only anger. Anger that he needed to use such a thing to do the simplest of things. Learning to use one's own legs was something that was learnt in the earliest years of a dwarfing's life.

He was aware that he was furrowing his brow, not appearing to be grateful. At the sight of Bofur's faltering smile, a very rare thing indeed, Fili allowed himself a small smile. "It is wonderful Bofur, a stroke of genius. I am forever indebted to you," he said, meeting the other dwarf's eyes.

The toymaker returned the smile, adjusting his hat. "Think nothing of it, lad."

Suddenly, there was a sharp tugging on his sleeve, he turned and met the gaze of Ari, her large green eyes staring at him inquisitively. As a sign of her bravery, he had braided the remains of the light brown hair on the right side of her head, weaving the strands to the back of the head to give her a more regal look. The wound on her head had begun to form a neat, but jagged scar. He smiled at her, "Hello, Ari. What is it?"

"Is this going to be able to let you move around?" she asked, her eyes scanning the wheelchair before her. She, like everybody else, had never seen such a thing before and was quite intrigued as to whether or not it would help the Dwarf Prince.

Fili nodded, "It is indeed, he said. If I move the wheels like this I can go forward," he said, demonstrating what he said, moving in the chair for the first time. He let out a small gasp of surprise, he actually wasn't too certain it would work, and the feeling of moving relatively on his own was an interesting one after so long. "if I move the wheels like this, I can go backwards," he said, demonstrating this as well.

As Fili had done this, the remaining members of the company had appeared around the tent entrance, some gazing over the heads of the other. Even they hadn't seen Fili smile at all until now, and it was quite a happy sight. Even Róskva took a moment from her duties to peer inside the tent. She smiled at the sight.

Ari watched approvingly, her arms crossed over her chest. "Does it turn?" she asked, wondering the full extent of the mobility of the chair.

Unsure, Fili looked to Bofur in question.

Bofur moved to stand near Fili, "If you move the wheels like this," he said, showing how to turn one individual wheel to turn left or right, both forwards and backwards.

Fili repeated this action as best he could, the chair turned, not as swiftly as he would hope, but he was assured that with practice it would come.

Ari nodded in satisfaction, smiling. "Now you can move around the place, Prince Fili," she said, looking quite happy at this prospect.

"Indeed I can," replied Fili, giving a small smile. He did not wish to see her unhappy, no matter if he was or not. Fili moved his attention to the other dwarf and hobbit standing behind Bofur. They all seemed to be wearing warm smiles on the faces. He raised an eyebrow at them, which snatched the expression of their faces, replaced with more natural faces. The full weight of the reality that he could now leave the tent hit him, and he felt anxious to get to the place he had been yearning, yet dreading, to go since the battle.

As if understanding what he was thinking, Dwalin stepped to the front of the company. He drew breath, "Fili, the burial chambers are almost complete. We will have the funeral when your mother arrives," he said bluntly, not wishing to draw out the truth with unnecessary words.

Fili looked down suddenly, his eyes closed. "May I see them?" he asked, his voice hushed, not quite believing the reality of the situation. Flashes of what he saw in his sleep crept forth into his mind, whispering words of guilt and betrayal. He pushed them aside, shaking his head as he did so.

The company had noticed he was doing this a lot lately, though they did not know why.

"Are you remembering something, Master Dwarf?" Ari asked, worried slightly.

The prince smiled at her, "Nothing you need to worry about, little one," he assured. He looked back to the company expectantly.

"You may see them," Balin granted. Though, he thought Fili would go whether he permitted it or not. He also thought that he should pay better attention as to how many times Fili shook his head like he did.

Fili seemed to be frozen however, he was suddenly not sure if he really wanted to go. He would have to face the reality of the deaths, and he did not want to. He swallowed nervously, his hands gripping the wheels of his chair with a vice like grip, his knuckles white. A small hand pulled at his sleeve again, it was Ari. He looked at her quizzically.

"Do you need someone to go with you, Prince Fili?" she asked.

The dwarf in question shook his head, "You do not need to come, little one. Besides, your father needs you by his side," he said, not wishing to offend her. Her father had fallen weak in recent days, his wounds infected. Tauriel was doing her best, but moments of consciousness where growing few and far between. He felt a certain guilt, that he, for his status, had received more medical attention.

Ari frowned before heeding his words, going to her father.

Slowly, Fili allowed his hands to push the wheel forwards, allowing the chair to move across the uneven ground and to the outside world. He felt the hot sun fall onto his skin, the light blinding his eyes for a moment. He waited there for a moment, before looking to his right. Róskva was standing there, mace at her hip. She smiled at him reassuringly. "Would you like me to escort you, Prince Fili?" she asked carefully.

He nodded, moving the chair forward once more as he followed her. He let his eyes scan his surroundings. All around him were tents, wounded men, elves and dwarves. Every so often, he could see Tauriel dart from one place or another, her red hair trailing behind her. She had visited him a few more times since their first meeting, and the beginning of a friendship had been formed between them. Eventually, with aching arms, he managed to reach the tent that Róskva was leading him to.

He stopped. "I would like to continue on alone please, Róskva," Fili said, eyes straight ahead.

Róskva nodded, "as you wish, Prince Fili," she answered, moving aside.

Fili drew a deep breath, his heart racing inside his chest. All sorts of thoughts raced around in Fili's brain, about what he should do, what he should feel and about what exactly all theses thoughts meant. Slowly, he began to roll his chair forward, until he found himself inside the tent.

And there they were.

Kili and Thorin. Cold, pale and dead. Though the days of the soullessness did not show, they merely looked asleep. Peaceful, the dim light of the shining through the tent highlighting their faces. But they were dead. And Fili felt the same.

His heart in his throat, Fili wheeled his way towards where they lay, so he was before the two of them. Yet, after all the time he had waited, he did not look at them again, for fear of what he might feel being so close to them, yet so far away. Instead, he closed his eyes and bowed his head. He could feel his throat begin to throb, and his eyes grow heavy with tears, but he refused to let them fall. He didn't feel he deserved it, for the truth before he rested on his shoulders. Just like the whispers in his head said.

Slowly, he let his eyes open, the tingling sensation returning ever so slightly. His lips quivered, on the verge of sobbing. But he did not. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Please wake up," he begged quietly. He wanted them to wake up. For all this to end. He wanted his uncle to help guide him, and his brother at his side. He wanted his legs back. He wanted for things to go back to the way they were.

But life had taught him you rarely get what you want without a price to pay, and so his words and wants did nothing. He felt another shiver run down his spine. He gasped. _That's not possible_. In his shock Fili tried to move his legs, feeling ever hopeful.

Nothing.

He must have imagined it, he decided. With a shaking breath, he looked at his brother and uncle one last time before they were buried, unspoken words still on his lips. He closed his eyes and turned away, leaving the tent behind him. Leaving his family.

Yet, he still hadn't let them go.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot of this story.

A/N

Hello! Welcome to chapter 6 and thank you for clicking the next button.

I am so sorry for the wait! I have been working on a book, but I have found the sudden need to write more of this story.

Anyways! If you would like to give me any feedback, you are most welcome. If I made you cry I want to know. Not just internally cry, but literally. If you felt nothing, I want to know.

* * *

Chapter 6: Rebuilding

As the next three days passed, Ari's father, who Fili had come to know as Brendan, grew weaker and weaker. His skin hung from his skull like a corpse, and his injured hand had festered away until it was required to amputate it, leaving only a bloody stump. Ari, the brave girl, had not left her father's side, save for a few moments to talk to himself or Róskva.

Fili knew the man did not have long, maybe a week or two, but he did not know how to tell this to Ari, for fear of her suffering as he did. Deep down he knew that if he didn't tell her, she would suffer even more so. The shock of sudden death was far worse, for one did not have time to accept or process, let alone say their goodbyes. He had experienced it three times now. The first time was his own father, then his brother and uncle. It felt unfinished, and it always would. He hoped he would never experience this again.

So instead, Fili was now before Róskva, sitting in his wheelchair while asking her for advice. Fili had decided, that when the time came, he would help the girl find a new family, and he would look after her until that was done. The problem was, he had not experienced in such a thing, nor did he know how to tell Ari this.

Róskva looked at him sadly; so many burdens for one so young. She was only younger than Fili by a year of two, and the two of them had been of age for quite some time, but she still felt old on the inside. She supposed he did too.

"I will help you look after her if you allow it," she offered. The Prince was someone who was not easy to deny support to, and someone who was also quite easy to like, despite his current and to be expected solemnness.

Fili smiled appreciatively, "I would be most grateful for that." Róskva had returned the smile before her eyes wandered over his shoulder. Frowning, Fili turned his chair to see what had distracted her so. He felt his heart leap a bit.

There, standing next to a very proud Legolas, was a Mearas, a horse of incredible intelligence and speed, capable of understanding human speech, its coat a beautiful buttermilk, contrasting to its dark black mane and tail. It had a noble head, and an intelligent expression, its brown eyes looking into his with interest. It was not a tall horse, but it was heavily built like the ponies he was accustomed to riding. It needed no reins or leads for it to stay, it simply stood at the elf's side, as his equal. Upon its back was the saddle that Bofur had sketched, he could see the extra supports that did not usually come with a saddle. It bore neither bridle nor halter. Never had Fili seen such a magnificent horse.

"This is Felaróf the second, descendent of the first Mearas, He has agreed to bear you Prince Fili," said Legolas, looking quite excited. It was not often a Mearas agreed to be ridden, and only for the noblest of causes.

Fili could only stare in amazement.

Róskva had a similar expression on her face.

"Well, are you going to greet him or not?" asked Legolas.

Unsure, Fili hesitated. Was there a proper way for greeting such a magnificent animal?

Seeming to understand his hesitance, Felaróf stepped forward, lowering his head, so his eyes were level with Fili's own. Carefully, Fili held out his hand. Felaróf pushed his muzzle into it, accepting the gesture. Smiling, Fili pet the horse's nose. "Hello, Felaróf. My name is Fili."

Felaróf shook his mane in understanding, before turning his head to the saddle in question.

Fili looked back at Legolas, unsure.

"He is asking if you wish to sit on his back," clarified Legolas.

Fili nodded, "That I understood, I just don't know how to go about it… or if I should," he replied, looking apologetic and a little bit embarrassed.

Legolas smiled in understanding. "I will help you, Prince Fili. Eventually, you will be strong enough to pull yourself up onto his back," he said, moving to help Fili out of his chair.

After a bit of manoeuvring, Legolas and Róskva managed to get Fili into the saddle. He had a definite slump where he once sat straight, but that would be fixed with practice. The cantle of the saddle sat a bit higher, supporting his upper back, while the pommel, evening the weight did the same. His thighs were buckled to the saddle flap, keeping them from moving while he learnt his balance again. Fili had a nervous look on his face, his hands grasping the pommel of the saddle, as there were no reins to hold onto.

"Prince Fili, you need not be nervous, Felaróf will not move or do anything you do not ask," he promised, guiding Fili's hands to Felaróf's mane. "Hold on to this instead," he said.

Fili frowned, "How do I ask him?"

If horses could laugh, Felaróf would be doing as such.

"Just like that, use your voice, and your focus. Just think of what you want him to do, and he will do it," Legolas replied.

Fili sat for a moment before a vision of Felaróf moving forwards at a steady walk entered his mind. To Fili's amazement, Felaróf did exactly that. The dwarf lessened his grip on the horse's mane, feeling he could trust him. He thought about turning left, and then it happened, and so on. Fili let out a small laugh of joy. Only a small one, but it was powerful in emotion.

Felaróf whinnied in response, coming to a halt in front of the tent.

Smiling, Róskva stepped towards them. "Why don't we go for a practice ride?" She asked hopefully.

Fili thought for a moment, wondering how much he could or should do, or where they should go. Suddenly, a dark thought entered his mind. "Has the pale orc and his son's body been destroyed?" he asked.

Legolas shook his head. "Stone destroyed Bolg's body, I saw it myself. As for the pale orc, we could not move him from Ravenhill, we had intended to move the pale orc's body, but as I recall, Dwalin found you and all was forgotten. He is still up there," he finished, careful of how he spoke.

Fili swallowed, "then we ride for Ravenhill."

* * *

Fili watched from atop Felaróf as flames twisted in the wind like a snake, heat licking his face. His eyes were emotionless as he looked on. Before him were the carcasses of the orcs that had killed his family, burning away under the flames like so many others. He thought the orcs were not worthy of such a burial; he thought it better they rot in the open as the ravens pecked at their eyes.

But they smelt rather terrible, so he decided against it.

His family, however, did not deserve to be dead. They deserved a rich, full life. But it was not to be. Fili bowed his head in sadness, the only display of emotion he had expressed the past hour. Wordlessly, a hand came to rest on Fili's shoulder in comfort.

Róskva. Upon a dusty grey pony, she sat; her eyes filled with sadness. She had accompanied him up Ravenhill, making sure he was able to go the full distance, and that he took the safest route possible. It had taken quite a bit of arguing on his part for anyone to even allow him to leave the camp grounds. Eventually, it was agreed that he could go as long as he took an able-bodied guard with him. Many of the company offered to assist him, yet he asked for her. He wasn't sure why, but it felt right. To save them time, they had brought a tinder box and a torch with them, waiting to alight the pyre. When they had arrived, Róskva wordlessly removed the stone of Bolg and tied the orcs to a rope attached to the back of her saddle and pulled them into a pile before handing him a lit torch to start the fire.

He had begun to grow quite fond of her, grateful for the loyalty and support she offered him.

However, something new was troubling him. A question he knew he would be asked. "Róskva?"

She hummed in acknowledgement.

"I think they are going to ask me to be King."

Róskva looked at him calmly. "Do you wish to be King?"

The prince frowned. "I don't know. I was always told I was going to be King, but it was always something in the far future, something that would happen after Uncle passed," he paused, "and yet he has passed, and I am not sure if I am fit to be king now," he explained, looking down.

Róskva furrowed her brow, "what do you mean by now?"

Fili gestured to his legs, suddenly feeling quite without hope, "I can't walk, I never will again. I have to use a chair to move around, and Mahal knows if I'm ever going to be able to fight in that. I can barely sleep, I hear their voices in my head, and their faces in my dreams" Fili said, his voice full of grief.

Róskva shook her head. "No, you can not walk, but you can move around in that chair and on Felaróf; soon you will be as quick as anybody. You'll have the element of surprise when fighting, and if anyone can fight in that chair, it's you. Fighting on horseback will come easily to you. I saw you on the battlefield. You have also just survived a battle and lost people you love; of course, you can't sleep and are having dreams, but in time sleep will come easier. If you truly need it, you can take a sleeping draught. I'm not sure about the voices, but I assure you that whatever they are saying it is false, and they are not real. I do believe, however, that if you choose to be, you will be the greatest King Erebor has ever seen."

Fili stared at her, amazed and enchanted…

Róskva frowned. "What?"

He smiled at her, shaking his head. "Nothing. Just... thank you."

* * *

It was a joyous day when reconstruction within Erebor was developed enough for many to move into living quarters, Fili and his company included. Yet he had not been inside Erebor since the battle, almost two weeks past, and his heart felt a bit of uncertainty about being inside such a place. It did not yet hold any truly happy memories and did not yet feel like home. Not like Ered Luin did. But yet it was proclaimed his true home for as long as he could remember. He hoped it could be. As he moved into the great halls for the second time, the emerald-green walls were glistening under torch light; he felt his eyes fill with wonder.

Though the dwarves of the Blue Mountains had not yet arrived, gone were the cobwebs and muck, replaced by polished stone and lit torches. What once felt cold and desolate felt warm and alive. At least the parts that had been rebuilt. It was true it was not yet fully populated, yet he could see many walking the halls already- fixing things, cleaning others, or just simply moving in. He noted that some of the stairways had also been fixed with ramp-like structures. He smiled, looking to his company, who shared his expression. "It's beautiful," he said.

The others nodded in agreement.

"Come along, Prince Fili. I'll show you your quarters," Bofur said gleefully.

Fili shook his head, "Bofur, you can still call me Fili," he said. In truth, he was not used to being called 'Prince'. He knew it was his title, but for the last year, in particular, nobody deemed it truly important to call people by their titles in casual occasions. The company all respected one another, on most occasions anyway, and did not need reminding of that respect by others stating their titles.

Bofur nodded in understanding, moving to lead the way, the company dispersing.

Fili followed him, accompanied by Róskva, and Ari. The poor girl was to move in with Róskva, though she still did not know why. All she knew was that her father had been moved to a healing chamber.

"Here we are," Bofur said, coming to a halt outside an unusually large stone door before opening it, revealing a spacious chamber illuminated by the glow of torches.

Fili held back a gasp as he stepped inside; never had he been in such a lavish chamber. The room had been restored nicely. It was almost too regal for his own taste, gold trails running through the walls, surrounding the stone and wood furniture within. But there was something that seemed to be bothering him. Inside was a matching bed and bed stool, both made from a mixture of stone and oak wood. The bed was lined with dark furs, and royal blue fabrics, restored so it appeared new. The desk stood off to the side, with fresh parchment and an ink and quill set nicely to the one side while books covered the other side. From the walls hung fabric of the same royal blue, spacing out the dark stone of the mountain. It was a room made for a prince, but not him.

"This was my uncle's room, wasn't it? "

Bofur nodded, "Aye, it was. And most of the furnishings are the very same," he stopped, noticing Fili's downcast eyes. "Does this bother you?" he asked gently.

Fili shook his head, "No. Maybe, I'm not sure. It just feels odd, to think he once was here, sitting at that desk, sleeping in that bed, like a ghost of a memory."

Bofur nodded, "Aye, I understand. I can find you another room if you like."

"No, it's fine. This is fine, thank you Bofur," he said, smiling.

Bowing, Bofur turned and left, leaving him with Róskva and Ari. The poor girl was in tears. Feeling his heart ache he moved his chair forward so he was in front of Ari. In the chair, he found he was eye level with her. He frowned at the tears sliding down her cheeks, trailing over the scar. He took her hands gently, "Ari, do you know why your father had been moved to a healing chamber?"

She stiffened a sob, looking away from his gaze. "He is going to die isn't he?"

"We will try out hardest to make sure it doesn't come to that. But he is very sick. For the meantime, you're going to live with Róskva, okay." Fili said, trying to regain her gaze. "You can trust her to look after you, and if you need or want to, you can come and visit my mother or me."

Ari sniffled. "Your mother?"

Fili tried to smile, hiding his guilt. "Yes, she is a stern Dwarrodam, but a kind one. She will love to meet you."

"You promise?"

Fili gave her hands a squeeze, "I promise. Now run along now, Róskva will show you to your chambers. You can come and visit me later."

After a few more moments, and a grateful look to Róskva, Fili was left alone.

Sighing to himself, he moved towards the dresser. It was old, and most likely his uncles, but even in his chair he could see over the top of it. It was made of cold stone, with a royal blue cloth draped over the top of it. Swallowing, he opened the drawer. Inside were clothes that would have also have been worn by his uncle. They looked as if they had not been touched after all this time, but of course, that was a lie. They would have been restored for him, the resources needed to fix some stitching far cheaper than that needed to make a whole new set of clothes. He felt a lump form in his throat as he pulled them from the drawer. There was a blue tunic, the edges lined with intricate silver stitching, with it was a darker overcoat, lined with dark fur and blue velvet. The breeches were a darker blue, almost black. Atop it all was a silver belt. Together it was not unlike what his uncle had worn on their journey. All that was missing were the years of wear. With a shaky breath, he moved to place them on the bed as to change into them.

After a few minutes of struggling, he managed to get the tunic and breeches on. He paused, breathing deeply as he calmed his frustration. Something once so simple now seemed so hard. Ignoring the strange tingling sensation that overcame his arms and chest, he wrapped the belt around his waist, buckling it. With a shaky breath, he leant forward, as to make it easier to put his uncle's coat on. It weighed heavy on him, like the guilt in his heart. He did not feel he should wear what his uncle had once, no matter how old and ruined his other clothes were. He did not feel he had the right to be where his uncle had once stood. Not after what he had done to them.

Breathing deeply, he turned his chair towards the door; much needed to be done.

* * *

With the help of Bard and Legolas' men, the entrance to the Treasury had been reopened just four days after the living chambers. Now their energy was beginning to wane; it would not be until the dwarves from the Blue Mountains arrived that they could move on to the burial chambers that would be entirely rebuilt, among other parts of the mountain.

Yet, the Treasury had to be opened, and so it was reopened first. There were Kings who needed to be paid, and it was best not to start another war.

And so Fili stared out at the vastness of gold before him, disgusted. There was no better word for it. What good had it ever done? It was the cause of all this grief, right back to the day Smaug had first taken the mountain, to the day war had claimed his family. And for what? Greed? Wealth? Pride? Madness? A symbolised claim? If he could, Fili would melt down all the gold before him and return it to the walls of the mountain if it meant he could change what had happened. But alas, he could not.

From a different set of eyes, the sight before him may have appeared beautiful, magnificent. An endless lake of gold, speckled with red, green, and blue; illuminating the walls in a golden hue. Through the prince's eyes, all that could be seen was pain and greed. It had almost destroyed his uncle. It was a small comfort that his uncle had returned to his true self before his death. Just a small one.

He did not wish to be where he stood, and he knew the second he was no longer needed he would get as far away from the Treasury as he could- a cold thought in the back of his head. Whispering that he too would fall to the gold sickness. He did not want to believe it. Yet he feared it. He hoped he was strong, yet he had always thought his uncle stronger than him. For now, however, he must stay. He was surveying the collection of payments for the two Kings. A decent portion of the men of Lake-town, enough to rebuild Esgaroth and restore its former glory, and white gems of Lasgalen and another portion of for Thranduil. Despite the amount that was being paid, it barely made a dent in the lake of gold.

What could someone need with so much gold? He wondered.

He could not think of an answer.

* * *

They were in the throne room, though Fili did not sit upon the throne. He was no king yet. Instead he sat in his own chair, a dozen chests of gold and jewels before him, and one with white jewels. Next to him stood Róskva and the company, their faces rid of all expression. They were here as his guard, and if necessary, his advisers. Standing in front of them were Bard and Thranduil. The Elven Kings scar was growing worse; what had once been only his left face and eye had begun to stretch across his nose and neck. He wondered is that was why the Bowman stood unusually close to the elves left, almost as if acting in place of his blind eye. Róskva did the same for him when he was in his chair or on Felaróf.

After a moment more, Fili decided that silence had stretched too long. "You have what was promised for you, take it now and remember what it has cost us." He gestured to the chests in front of him.

Thranduil frowned and stepped forward, looking like he was about to say something. He heard an intake of breath from the company behind him, but Bard stopped him with his outstretched arm. "My Lord, though I know this will not take back what has been done, I am sorry for what has happened. I hope that from this we can learn to work with each other, not against."

Fili took this in, his only movement the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

Thranduil bowed his head, "I too believe that from this we can forge a new alliance, born of trust. This is a new beginning for us all."

Fili nodded, composed. He supposed the elf was right. Though it pained him, he knew he must forgive, and not repeat the same mistakes that had been made so often before. "I hope that too, and I am grateful for the effort you are using to preserve my kin," he paused, and with a sweep of his arm he gestured to the two chests of gold and white jewels, "I hope this will serve as fair payment for your trouble."

The prince saw the elf's good eye go wide. The second chest was not part of the agreement, and he had given it at his own will.

"I thank you for your payment, Prince Fili. It will not go unforgotten."

The prince bowed his head, giving the cue for the company to help carry the chests outside. They moved forward swiftly, and as Dwalin passed, he gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Well done lad." Fili tried to smile in response, though it held little emotion. He was just glad to be rid of the ugly situation that seemed to be occurring since before he was born. He just hoped it lasted.

Balin came to a stop beside him. "You did well, Fili. You had the bravery to do what many before you could not."

"I did it to prevent another war."

The older dwarf nodded, "Aye, and it was the right thing to do," he paused, placing a hand on his shoulder, "but there is something else you need to know."

His brow furrowed, Fili turned to face his mentor. His face was saddened but bore a hint of happiness; a curious expression. "What do you mean?"

"Your mother, Lady Dis, has arrived."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot, Róskva** **and Ari.**

 **I hope to update more regularly, and that you enjoy this chapter (or even cry while reading it, because I did while writing it)**

 **Thank you so much for reading this far; there is much more to come, good and bad; this is only the beginning.**

 **As for our Lady Dis, as a collective fandom, I think we can all agree that she is not somebody to be messed with.**

* * *

Chapter 7: The Last of the Line of Durin

Dis did not know what to expect. There had been no Ravens since the one her brother had sent her so long ago, asking her to return to the mountain. Insufferable idiot. She suspected that he had withheld a few 'minor' details regarding the quest and its occurrences. He mentioned something about a run in with some trolls; apparently, rabbits were involved, some colourful language regarding the Elven King; something about barrels and something else about being surprised by a Baggins? He was quite vague. Fortunately, he was clear that he wished for her to return to Erebor with the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains, and she was happy to oblige. The journey to her home had been an interesting once, her company had camped under three stone trolls one interesting night, and there had been a herd of wild ponies grazing nearby. She suspected her brother and his company had gone this way, judging by the discarded weapons and warg corpse. She had feared the worst but relaxed once she realised the letter would have been sent much further on in their journey. Nevertheless, the journey had been a swift one, and the only threats were nothing a few swords couldn't handle. She felt the spirits of the dwarves lifted as they had grown closer to the mountain. Many of them had been alive when it had been taken from them, some had been no older than a dwarfing, and all longed for their home, even if they had no memory of it.

It seemed so long ago that they had all been together in Ered Luin, her brother and her sons. One moment they had been together, and then her brother had disappeared on his quest, her sons following behind him. Though she often worried, she trusted her brother, and she knew that her sons saw him as the father figure they had lost. She only hoped her brother had not made a fool of himself. As she drew closer; she felt excitement swell in her heart. She would see them soon. She would be home.

It was only when she saw the pyres, destruction and tents that her excitement ceased. _Just what has my brother done now?_ If he had gone and started a war she had half a mind to send him packing back to Ered Luin. All around her was destruction; she could not help but place her hand on the axe at her side. Where the wood had once stood before Smaug's attack, was now covered with white snow and hard dirt, blackened blood soiled through it. There were no bodies; she guessed they had been burnt by now; the air still smelt of it, but there were still some tents pitched before the mountain. She could hear the whispers behind her, murmuring. The dwarves from the Blue Mountains had been travelling for months, and they had grown weary. They all longed for a break, a bath, shelter, anything. Dis admitted that her own long black tresses could do with a wash.

As she led them through the camp and towards the mountain, the dwarves began to disperse behind her, to find friends, food, or information she did not know. All she wished was to see her family. She felt herself smile slightly as she saw noticed a few figures standing and waiting for her, but as she drew closer, she saw none of them were her brother or sons. She frowned. _Perhaps they were busy? So busy that they would no come and greet her? No, Thorin would never allow it. Perhaps the sickness of the mountain had got to him._ But where were her sons then? Her thoughts came to a stop as she halted before the group. She smiled at her cousins, but she did not recognise the red-haired elf – odd, or the shorter curly haired fellow.

Dain stepped forward, smiling as he bowed. "Hello m'lady Dis, we are glad to see ya have arrived safely."

Dis smiled in return; it had not been since her wedding so many years ago that she had seen her cousin. Before she could reply, however, she felt herself swept into familiar strong arms. Dwalin's arms. She smiled warmly, returning the embrace as tightly as she could; she had seen the tears in her friend's eyes. "Hello cousins," she said, pulling away before turning to the other two among them that she did not recognise. "Who are your companions?"

The shorter one, with the larger feet, stepped forward. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service Lady Dis."

Dis returned the greeting, intrigued. "What is your business here, Halfling?" she asked.

"This is our burglar and our friend. We would not be here without him," Dwalin added in, giving her a look that said Bilbo was not to be disrespected. She wondered if the same referred to the elf as well. She did not share her brothers' hatred, but she did distrust them as all dwarves did.

Seeming to notice her switch of attention, the red-haired elf stepped forward, bowing deeply. "I am Tauriel of Mirkwood, my Lady. I am assisting with the wounded and repairs of Erebor."

She nodded, unsure but respectful. It had been an age since she last remembered an elf of Mirkwood assisting them. "Tell me. What has my brother done this time?"

Tauriel began to look at her strangely, sadness in her eyes. The others followed suit.

 _Something had happened._

The thought frightened her, down to the bone. _Something is very wrong_. She felt her heart grow quicker, her eyes flickering to the tents and pyres. "Why haven't my brother or sons come to greet me?" She asked, nervous.

Dwalin shook his head, his face full of sorrow. "I think… I think it is better if we just show you, lass."

And then she knew.

At that moment, her heart turned colder than Thorin's ever had. She drew a struggled breath against the lump in her throat. "Show me their bodies."

* * *

The walk to the tent had not taken long, but it felt like an eternity, for she knew what she would find. Gone was the joy and excitement she had felt when the mountain came into view, and in their place was pain and grief. She wondered if she too was cursed. First her grandparents, then her parents and brother Frerin. Later went her husband, and now her brother and sons. She was the only one left.

Wordlessly, she stepped into the tent, not caring who followed behind her. It took all of her strength not to fall to her knees. So it was true- they were gone. They looked like they were sleeping, so untouched by time thanks to the eleven king as it had been explained to her. They would never wake, and that thought was more frightening than a thousand orcs.

Though Dis was much like her brother in appearance, composure and sternness, there had always been a mischievous glint in her eyes that had long gone out in her brothers, but now, standing where she stood, there was no trace of it. She felt herself beginning to shake, and very soon she had not the strength to hold back the sobs that followed, and this time she did fall to her knees. A shiver soon racked over her body, and it did not go away. She wrapped her arms around herself.

Gone was her brother, and all that he was. Gone were her little boys, never to grow old with grandchildren at their feet. Gone was everything she had ever lived for.

"My Lady Dis, your son, Kili, gave this to me before he died. Though I wish to return it to you," Tauriel said, kneeling down beside the Dwarrowdam. In her outstretched hand was a blue stone, a promise. "I am sorry I could not help him keep his promise," she said, her own voice cracking.

With shaking hands, she took the stone, stifling another sob. "I thank you. Yet…I must ask. …Was Fili's body not found?"

Tauriel seemed to furrow her brow in confusion, but then her eyes seemed to widen. "My Lady Dis, your eldest still lives."

A pause.

"Fili lives?" Dis almost dropped the stone in her hand.

Tauriel nodded, her eyes flickering to Kili. "Yes, he lives, but he has been injured, Lady Dis."

She gripped the stone tighter. Injured was better than dead. "How so?"

"My lady, he will never walk again, but all is not in vain. He has found mobility in a wheeled chair, and a Mearas has agreed to bear him on his back. He is in safe hands and overviewing the reconstruction of the mountain. Though, if I may my Lady Dwarf, I fear for his mind and heart. He has lost much."

 _My poor, sweet boy…_ She felt tears well in her eyes, now for another reason. "Take me to him, please."

* * *

It took all the strength Dis had not to run when she realised where Tauriel was leading her. She knew the way to her eldest brother's room, even after all these years. On the way, Tauriel explained what had happened, up to the point that as she had arrived as her son had been paying what was long promised to the Elven King and the men of Lake Town. An alliance had been reforged. She felt her heart swell with pride, subsiding a small amount of the pain she felt. She knew it would return later. But now, she must focus her attention on the living, no matter how hard it was. Her eldest was still alive, and that mattered the most. She only wondered why Fili had not come to greet her if he had found a way to move around- perhaps he was tired. Perhaps it was something else.

They came to a stop outside the great oak doors of her brothers and now Fili's room. It had been a year. A year since she had laid eyes on her son. _Would he have changed?_ She dearly hoped not, but war changed all those it touched. She drew a deep breath, and opened the door, quietly in case he was asleep.

And there he was.

He was sitting on the bed, balancing against the bed post with his head in his hands as his legs hung limply against the bed. A wheeled chair sat near his legs. So it was true…

"Fili," she called.

His head shot up, and his face was filled with pain. Yes, he wore a smile, but she knew her son better. His eyes had changed, gone was the bright twinkle, and in its place was sadness. He looked older in the face as well, the first signs of worry lines appearing on his head where his golden hair hung in waves. It was pain written on his face.

"Mother?" he replied, voice full of longing.

She felt tears well in her eyes, but yet she could not help but smile as she ran to him. In an instant he was in her arms, safe and alive. She buried her nose in his hair, tears falling freely. It had been so long… Only minutes ago she had thought him dead, yet here he sat, alive. She felt his arms return the embrace as he leant against her; she let out another sob, this one in happiness.

After a moment, she pulled away. She wanted to see her sons face again. He had a fond expression on his face, but behind it, she could see a turmoil. It reminded her of Thorin, but not in a way she wished. It meant that something was hurting him, and it did not take a scholar to figure out what.

"Mother...Kili and Uncle, they're… they are-" he stopped, bowing his head to hide the pain in his face. He shivered as if a chill had taken over him. Just nerve damage, he reminded himself.

She felt her heart break; she pulled him back into her arms, and this time she ran her fingers through his hair as she cried. "I know, I know. I have seen them."

Fili let out an anguished sound, " _It's my fault_ , it is all my fault."

Dis drew back, anger clear on her face. So this was why her son had not come to see her, he was afraid she would blame him. The thought sickened her, that he felt so responsible for what had happened. "Do not. Do not blame yourself. It will destroy you; it is not your fault Fili. Do not believe that for a second."

Her son shook his head, his eyes glistening, yet he did not cry. "You do not know what happened; if I had just- "

" _Fili._ It is not your fault; I know what happened. Dwalin and Tauriel told me what they knew, and I promise you, it was not your fault. If it is anybody's fault, it is the orcs. _They_ killed them. _They_ did the deed. Not you."

She spoke this is as firmly as she dared. She did not wish to sound angered, but it would not do for her son to blame himself for what he could not prevent. Though, she knew, that fact alone probably tortured him just as much. She made herself vowel to thank Bofur for all his help.

This time it was her son who withdrew from the hug, holding onto her shoulders to balance himself. He seemed to be holding back the tears, exhausting himself. "We need to bury them."

She nodded, letting out a pained sigh "Yes, I know." She moved so she was seated behind her son so he may lean on her while she re-braided his hair. He seemed to relax, but only a little.

"I miss them."

"As do I."

"It hurts."

"I know."

* * *

It was on the third week that they were buried. The third week since the battle, the third week since Fili's life came crashing down around him.

They had been carried to the underground hall, where all those before them had been laid to rest, buried under the great stone cavern of the mountain to return to Aulë. From the rock they were born, and to the rock they would return. Their blood had been cleaned from their bodies; gone was the blood stained armour from the battle, replaced with fine clothes of dwarfish fashion. They lay upon two separate stone slabs, made lower with Fili in mind; ornamented with cloth and candle, bringing some light to their pale faces. Yet it could not hide the truth of their emptiness. Gone were their souls, and all that they were to the halls of their fathers. Only flesh and memory remained of Thorin and Kili, and one day that too would be gone.

All around them were candles, illuminating the dark cavern in golden light that speckled the darkness like stars on the night's sky.

Across Kili's chest lay his sword and bow. Though he did not have it for the battle, it had been returned to him by Thranduil. The Arkenstone and Orcrist had also been returned by the Elven King, and now lay across Thorin Oakenshield's chest.

Fili wasn't sure what to make of that. It bothered him that the stone that almost destroyed his uncle now lay with him for eternity. Though he supposed, the stone was being returned to stone, to be with the true heart of the mountain.

Many had come to bear witness to the final goodbye. Some for duty, some for guilt, and some because of love. No matter the reasons for everyone's attendance, there was a sombre feeling in the air, full of grief and sadness. Even King Thranduil had his head bowed, his scar now covering the entirety of the left side of his face and neck, showing the paleness of his bone, his magic too weak to hide it now, and it did not go unnoticed; and neither did the way that Bard glared at anyone who stared too long. The company did the same if someone stared at him too long. When Gandalf declared the king dead, and him the heir, he could feel their eyes on him, in sympathy, and in anger. Some did not want him to be King; they wanted Dain, he knew and accepted this. He was not his uncle or any of those before him; it did not help that he could no longer walk.

The company circled their dead, paying their respects, saying their goodbyes. Each one of them paused to look at the faces of their friends, tears falling from their eyes and trailing down their faces. Dis could not seem to leave the place in between her two deceased kin. She wept as she held herself high. Bilbo Baggins, when he came to a stop beside Thorin, had to put a hand to his face to hide his grief. He seemed to shiver where he stood.

Fili's cheeks were bare of tears, not one had spilt, though his eyes showed the pain he felt in his soul.

He pulled his chair to a stop beside his brother, and he felt his chest heave with the effort not to cry. His baby brother was gone. Never to be by his side again. _And it is all my fault_. He felt the tingling sensation embrace him; even his scalp was not spared. He shivered, ducking his head and pulling his eyes away from his brother. He felt a small hand take his and pull; he looked to see Ari's wide brown eyes.

"Prince Fili?"

He tried to smile; he failed. "Yes, Ari?"

She pointed to Kili, "That's the dwarf that saved me, Prince Fili. He stuck the orc, the one that tried to get me. I remember."

Fili felt his heart falter. So it had been his brother who had saved this poor little girl. _Oh, Kili…_ He stiffened a sob, his eyes drawn upward as if he would find some answer to why his brother and uncle had been taken from him. There was none.

"Was he your brother, Fili?" Ari asked, worried by Fili's anguish.

He nodded, "He was, little one." He looked back to his brother, desperate to remember every detail he could about his face. He would never forget. "He still is."

Ari looked down to her toes, "I'm sorry."

Fili shook his head, pulling her into his arms. He rested his head on her shoulder. "It's not your fault little one." _It's mine._

Next, he went to his uncle. Bilbo was still there, not able to move away. He came to a stop next to him. The Arkenstone emanated light from where it lay grasped in Thorin's hands. He did not know what to say. What could be said? So he said nothing. They simply looked, one staring at their leader and friend, the other at their King and Uncle. He bowed his head, afraid. Once he would have jumped at the chance to show he could lead on his own. Now, he did not know how he could do it, not without his uncle. For the second time in his life, what he had always seen as a mountain of a dwarf, unmoving and untouchable, now lay dead before his eyes. It did not seem real.

"Prince Fili?" A cool voice called, yet the struggle to be composed was evident in her voice.

Fili turned to face the tall red-haired elf. "Yes, Tauriel?"

"If you would allow it, that when my service is no longer required, I wish to leave this part of the Rhovanion, to see the rest of the world."

Fili nodded, "Of course Tauriel, you may stay for as long as you like, and leave as such." Her help had been well needed after the battle. He did not doubt that had it not been for her many more would be dead. Though he envied her. He too wished to be somewhere else, anywhere else. He wished to walk among the trees again, to climb them once more. He wanted to explore the rest of the world. He wanted to be away from the pain. Though even if he could do what he wished, the pain would follow. Kili and Thorin would not be with him. Besides, he had a duty to stay; to be King.

Breathing deeply, he moved away from Thorin and Kili's bodies. He passed by his mother and gave her hand a squeeze. Whether he was giving strength, or taking it, he did not know. He felt more eyes on him, following him and his chair as they stared disapprovingly. Wordlessly, Róskva joined him at his side, almost protectively. She glared at those who stared with a frown on their faces, a hand on her mace in warning. He did not doubt she would use it, but he trusted her to only do so in a well-judged situation.

As he made his way past the crowd and to the cavern exit, he saw Dain approaching him. He pulled to a stop. "My Lord Dain," he greeted.

Dain bowed, returning the greeting. "Prince Fili. I must ask you of an important matter, regarding your current situation and all."

"My situation?"

"Aye lad, I only mean to offer my help. If you don't feel ready to take the crown, I can act as King until-"

Fili felt anger grow hot inside him, and not because of his offer. "Dain, this is not the time to discuss such things."

"I only meant-"

Fili breathed out, relaxing. It would not do to show stress. "I know, and I am sorry. I appreciate your offer, but I think it would be more beneficial to leave it for another time." He must be composed if he was to rule. Gone were the days of playfulness and frivolousness. That part of him had died with Kili.

And like his brother, it would not return.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot, Róskva and Ari.**

 **I hope to update more regularly, and that you enjoy this chapter (or even cry while reading it, because I did while writing it)**

 **Tell me what you think of Róskva and Ari, do you like them?**

 **Special thanks to RMoriluvr for their amazing support!**

* * *

 _Chapter 8: Endings Are Just Another Beginning_

When Bilbo Baggins first laid eyes on the Lady Dis he would have sworn she was his late friend, Thorin. When she stopped in front of him, he was able to see that her cheeks were softer, and her beard thinner than Thorin's. She had the same eyes though, but there was something faintly, well, Kili, in them. Her hair was just as dark, though it lacked the streaks of silver that Thorin had gained through stress, presumably from dealing with Fili and Kili and also from being exiled. He imagined that if he had still been the Bilbo Baggins that left the Shire, he would have found her as dark and foreboding as he had found Thorin, but he had learnt better.

Yet, he jumped whenever he saw her in the corner of his eye. The flowing black hair, the brooding stance, and the purposeful stride. They were all too familiar for the hobbit, and sometimes he forgot they did not belong to his friend, but their sister. He knew that it could not continue. He could not go on startling every time he saw the Lady Dis. Thorin was dead, and nothing would change that. So he had gone to her and arranged a time and place to meet and discuss those they had lost, and those they had not. They were to meet at Dale, so they may also survey its progress. Bard and his men had made almost equal progress with its reconstruction as the dwarves had with Erebor. Though with their strength also going towards the mountain, and the minds to Esgaroth, there was still much to be done, but progress was progress. He wondered what it would be like for Dis, to wander the town of her childhood after so many years and memories. Bilbo only had memories of it in its destruction, though he hoped to he would have some of Dale in its prime before he left.

 _If I left._ The thought had crossed his mind before, but he had promised he wound not leave until all was well, both with the mountain and its people. _But what after that?_ He had come so far with the company of Thorin Oakenshield, and had grown very fond of them all. It would be a shame to lose the friendships he had gained. _Would I even like the Shire after everything that has happened?_ He wasn't sure, it was true he yearned for his warm bed and armchair for the entire length of the journey, not to mention the comfort of a routine lifestyle, but he imagined that if he were to return he would always yearn for something more, something a little more adventurous. Besides, there was no reason he couldn't have all that here. Though he once would never admit it out loud, the people who had journeyed with him across middle earth likely knew him far better than those in the Shire. He wondered what the other Hobbits would think, Bilbo Baggins, running off as a respectful Hobbit who fretted over simple things like table manners, returning as the _Mad Baggins_ with a sword at his hip, mail on his chest and a heart that wandered.

He expected that Lobelia Sackville-Baggins would find out what a truly _unrespectable_ Hobbit was like. That would be a day worth witnessing, though just not anytime soon.

After waiting at the gate of Dale for some more time, Bilbo Baggins soon realised that it might not have been polite to simply wait for the late king's sister at Dale instead of greeting her at Erebor and riding with her to the town. Perhaps that was the reason for her lateness; she had been waiting for him to meet her. With a sudden pang of fear, he got ready to mount his pony and ride back and apologise when out of the morning mist, she appeared.

"I do apologise Master Baggins; I got lost trying to find the stables. They were not where I remember them being…"

Bilbo could barely believe his own pointy ears. They are exactly the same. "That's quite alright Lady Dis, though if I may, Bilbo is fine."

Dis nodded, dismounting from her pony. "Then, Bilbo Baggins, Dis is just as fine." She bowed, "Dis, at your service."

 _Not completely the same._ It had taken half of Middle Earth for Thorin to call him by his first name, and he couldn't recall him ever properly introducing himself, he had simply said, 'So this is the Hobbit?' and proceeded to give him a once over. _Stubborn Dwarf._ _…I miss you._ He shook himself from his thoughts, "Bilbo Baggins, at yours," he bowed, grateful for the opportunity to introduce himself to Dis formally.

She nodded, before gesturing to the streets of Dale. "Shall we?"

So they walked, Dis with her hands behind her back, and Bilbo with his at his side. They did not speak for a while, they simply observed the streets, beginning to bustle with life. On occasion they saw Bard darting about from one place to another, helping with the reconstruction, which was proving to be quite successful. The streets were alive with colour: reds, blues and white, with a dash of green. Winter had only just begun, and it had been years since greenery grew around the mountain- though he expected that would soon change, or he wasn't a Hobbit. The rooves of the buildings were blanketed in white, some of which flowed into the buildings themselves, their rooves not quite rebuilt. The ground was white too, though the cobblestone beneath showed where walking was more common. Though the air was filled with the smell of burning wood and smoke, a hint of the decay and death still lingered, some of it from the time of Smaug.

"Did you know my kin well, Bilbo?"

Bilbo started, lost in his own thought. He came to a stop "Pardon?"

Dis raised an eyebrow, no doubt at his jumpiness. "Thorin and Kili, did you know them well?"

He thought about this. _Did he know them well?_ He knew the Thorin and Kili of the quest, but he had not spent a lifetime with them. "I knew them well enough."

She nodded, accepting his answer as she walked on steadily. A sudden twinkle appeared in her eye. "Tell me, did my brother make a fool of himself throughout his quest. I don't doubt he got lost on a few occasions. In his letter, he mentioned something about trolls and rabbits? He also said something about you 'forcing' his company into barrels as a means of escaping 'that tree-shagging, pointy-eared bastard.' He also said something vague about my youngest getting a small 'flesh wound' that I shouldn't worry about. Do you have any idea what he was on about?"

For the first time since the battle, Bilbo did something he thought he might not again. _He laughed._ "Yes, that sounds like him. The trolls and rabbits were related, and yes, the barrels are a truth, except Kili had more of a flesh wound-" and so he launched into his recounted of events, Lady Dis listening intently, frowning or smiling at certain key points. He spoke quite rambunctiously of how the dwarves had invaded his house, eating all his food while they destroyed the plumbing; Thorin's rather dramatic and late arrival. He spoke of the trolls, the orcs, elves and goblins. He left out the part about the ring. He had to keep that a secret. He spoke of the carrock, Beorn and Mirkwood; recounting how Kili had been rather brave and opened the gates to help them escape, earning an arrow in the leg. He spoke of Lake-town, Smaug and the gold. He almost fell to tears when he recounted how he had watched his friend crumble to the gold-sickness, and he beamed with pride when he told Dis of how he had overcome it, uniting the dwarves once again. Then he spoke of their deaths and let his tears fall, and so did Dis.

"My brother must have been very fond of you," Dis said, after a while.

"He was my friend."

Dis smiled, "It isn't everyday my brother admits he had been wrong about something, and almost never that he trusts the lives of his kin with anybody other than himself. You were his friend too."

Bilbo twitched his nose. "I wasn't at the beginning."

Dis chuckled, "He never liked anybody when he first met them, save his nephews. He was almost too afraid to hold them when they were born. If he did like someone, he never let it show at first, and by the sounds of it Bilbo Baggins, he did like you."

"How could you possibly know that?"

She smiled, "Had my brother not liked you; you would never have caught up with them in time to join his company."

Bilbo gaped at her.

"Do you seriously believe that you could have caught up with a small platoon of ponies had my brother not wanted you to. Besides he would not have left the contract for you had he not secretly wanted you to follow after him."

"I, uh- I never really thought about it."

Dis raised her eyebrows, "Here I was thinking that my brother was wrong in describing you as 'surprising'. Yet here I stand, surprised." Noticing Bilbo's suddenly defeated look, she decided to switch the topic, slightly. "Tell me, what ever became of that acorn?"

"How-"

"Dwalin."

"Uh."

Now that the exchange was over, and he realised that Dis changed moods as quickly as Thorin, he thought back to the battle. He remembered planting it in Dale, but where? There had been arches and an open space- _Of course!_ "The town square."

"Then that is where we will go."

And then they were walking again. Soon they reached the town square; like the rest of Dale, it was nearly reconstructed. In the centre lay the dead trunk of a tree; the remnants of the battle covered over by snow. He went to where he remembered planting the acorn, in between the two rocks that had once been covered with the blood of man and orc alike. "Here," he knelt down, surveying the ground. There was no sign of a sapling.

"What is it that troubles you?"

He frowned, brushing away the snow lightly. "Acorns normally sprout in two to four weeks. It has been four."

"It is winter, Bilbo Baggins, give it time," Dis placed a hand on his shoulder, comfortingly, "tell me, why did you plant it here?"

"I was going to plant it at Bag-End, then the battle came; I thought that I would die here." he rose, turning so he could meet her eye. "So I planted it here as a promise, a promise that under all that blood and dirt there was a chance of new life, because when you are faced with death what else can you do but go on living?" He felt a shiver overcome him once more as he finished his speech; winter he decided. Only winter.

Dis looked at him for a moment, her face unreadable as she observed him. Then she spoke. "I am happy, Bilbo Baggins, that my brother had the good fortune to meet you in this wide world before he passed."

Bilbo wasn't sure what to say to that, so all he could do was bow his head.

Smiling fondly, which surprised even herself, Dis gestured back to the mountain. "Come, we should return before midday if we wish to have lunch before a mob of ravenous dwarves eats it all."

There was no disagreeing to that.

When they reached the company's food hall- they had one set up in the halls of Erebor, so they could meet daily, and sat themselves down to eat their meal-Bilbo could feel the companies eyes on him, following him as he ate. When they had finished, Dis rose from her seat, and all eyes turned to her. "Excuse me Bilbo; I must visit my son. I thank you for your company."

When she had gone, all eyes returned to him.

It was Dwalin that spoke first. "How it Mahal's name did you get not only Thorin Oakenshield, but _Lady Dis_ to befriend you? What is this magic you possess?!"

Bilbo could only laugh.

* * *

Ari's father had died.

That wasn't anything that Fili had not expected, but he sat atop Felaróf before the pyre-its flames flickering into the night sky. If Ari's father had been a dwarf, he would have been buried beneath stone. But he was a man, and fire was the way of men.

As Ari sat upon a pony, weeping silently by his side, he couldn't help but empathise with the shock the young girl felt. It was no easy thing, losing a family member to battle, even the aftermath of one. He wanted with all his heart to help the girl, to tell her all would be alright and it was not the end, but how could he when he didn't even believe the words himself? How could it possibly ever be alright again, they were gone. Dead. Lost. Never again would he hear Kili's laugh or find support in Thorin's steadiness. It was true he had kin left; he was not without support. _But I feel so alone._ Fili could scarcely remember a time that his little brother was not at his side, and there was never a time in his life that his uncle had not been there. Though Thorin had always been around before his father's death, when it had happened he had immediately stepped in to pick up the pieces. Thorin had been acting as their father longer than he had even known his true one. Both were gone now. He had lost them both. Had Kili still been with him he supposed he may have been able to see forward, to move forward. But without him? _No._ It did not seem possible.

He looked to those around him, Ari was the only one from the realm of men. The rest were dwarves, himself, Dis and Róskva included. Dis sat on her own pony to his left, while Róskva stood, holding the reins of Ari's pony for her. The fire scared the other ponies, and Ari had not the skill to control one should it bawk. Apart from them, there was no one else. Ari had no real kin still alive. They too were all gone, all except her. Gently, he reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. In that instant, she collapsed in her saddle, crying into her pony's mane. At loss of what to do, he withdrew his hand, afraid he had done something to cause her to break. Giving him a knowing look, Róskva gently began to soothe the girl, offering comforting words. The words he should have been giving her.

For a moment, he found the strength to gather himself, for her.

"I- I am so sorry Ari. I know what it is you feel little one." He bowed his head, as to hide what he had just admitted out loud. "I too lost my father when I was very young." He knew that the girl had also lost her mother, and like him, she probably felt alone and lost. He wanted to do anything to change that for her.

She sniffled, looking at him. "Did it- …Did it get easier?"

"Yes." A lie.

"Can…can I stay with you? Please," she said, her eyes red.

He felt his heart break, again. He offered her a small reassuring smile. "I already said you that you were welcome; I meant it, and as I recall, I also said that I was to introduce to my mother, Lady Dis." Since word of his mother's approach had reached the mountain, many had whispered of her likeness to Thorin with her sternness, bravery and uncanny ability to wield an axe. Over the course of those very same days, he had listened to Ari endlessly babble about his Mother. She admired her; who wouldn't. Many a young maiden could only dream of meeting a warrior-princess, as Dis was known to be.

Ari nodded eagerly, appearing thankful for the distraction.

Aware that she was needed, his mother dismounted, and made her way purposefully, but not intimidatingly, towards the small girl. She smiled gently, a sight that Fili knew she only reserved for either Kili or himself, and now apparently, Ari.

"Hello little maiden, I have heard quite a bit about you," Dis said calmly.

Ari seemed to glow, "really?"

Dis hummed in answer, "Fili has told me you are quite the brave young lass, do you think you can be brave for me now?"

Ari nodded. "Yes."

The Dwarrodam smiled, "That is good. In a moment we are going to have to say goodbye, okay? So I need you to muster all the courage you have for that. Now, remember, it is okay to cry, and those you have lost will always be with you, in there," she pointed to the girl's heart.

Fili wondered if his mother was somehow speaking to him also.

After a moment, Dis gave the girls shoulders a small squeeze. "Are you ready?"

Ari bit her lip, "Okay." Wordlessly, she turned back to the pyre. "goodbye, pa. …I love you," She stifled a sob, "Goodbye."

Fili wished he had such bravery.

* * *

It was on the second day of the fifth week that Gandalf returned to the Lonely Mountain, and he did not travel alone. Gandalf had searched hastily in the past weeks for his travelling companion. He admitted it was a much swifter journey too and throw then the last time he had made the journey, he supposed he should have expected as much when travelling on the backs of Great Eagles. He wondered once again if Gwaihir would ever come to his aid again. It was true he had once saved the Great Eagle from an arrow many an age ago, though he believed that the debt had long since been repaid. Though he suspected the Eagles knew things that even he could not perceive, and would act accordingly. A reassuring thought.

He had found his companion in Rivendell, as he had expected, and he had agreed to help the Dwarven prince most willingly, as was the nature of the elf. He was regarded as a cheerful companion by those who knew him, though also wise and strong, for he had seen much in his long life. Though it did not show. He was gold of hair, and it was as long as he was tall. He had a fearless look to his face, and eyes that were a shining blue. Though he did not like to admit, Gandalf knew that the elf that rode beside him, now that he had been sent back to Middle Earth by Manwë, was nearly as powerful as him. It was true he, Gandalf, had powers far stronger than that of his companion, but the elf excelled I powers of healing and foretelling. He seemed to have a great affinity for just knowing things.

As they rode to the mountain, two guards approached them, spears pointed. It did not go unnoticed that they were more in the direction of the elf. The tallest stepped forward, "who is it that approaches the mountain, and what is your business here?"

Though he felt impatience grow within him, he decided it best to maintain a calm persona. "It is I, Gandalf the Grey."

The tallest spoke again, lowering his spear slightly. "Who is your companion, Gandalf the Grey?"

"His name is Glorfindel."

* * *

Never, not even a little bit, had Fili expected Gandalf to travel all the way to the Eriador to find help from an elf, no matter how powerful they were. This was partially due to him not expecting anybody, save a few, to put that much effort into finding help for something so, well, _stupid_. They were only dreams, and emotions. He should be able to handle them, he told himself. Yet, he couldn't. Once, he would have despised the idea of an elf helping him; nothing could convince him to trust one, as nothing would convince Thorin to do the same. Yet his time on the journey had changed how he saw them. Tauriel had shown love and compassion, while Thranduil had shown remorse and had been striving to fix the mistakes that had been made. They were not evil, selfish creatures he had been led to believe they were.

He supposed he liked this 'Glorfindel', he had a kind nature, yet a strong one. A good combination. Yet there was something strange about him, an aura that seemed to surround him. He seemed powerful, but sometimes _not quite there._ He was intelligent certainly, but he seemed to look around into empty space and see things that no one else did. Though he should not complain, the elf was helping him, in what he was not sure yet, but he was helping him.

They were seated in his chambers, with Fili sitting, supported by his mother while the elf poked and prodded him and his spine. Occasionally he asked a question, if he felt pain, or sometimes just simply how he was going or how often he had a night-terror. Róskva was standing guard at the door while Gandalf and Dwalin surveyed the scene. Dwalin seemed to be ready to leap up and strangle the elf at the first sign of trouble. He hoped he didn't.

Finally, after what seemed an age, Glorfindel stepped back. He dusted his hands off on his robes, though not in a disgusted manner, but still decisive. "I am sorry Fili, but it is true you will never walk again," he paused, and Fili felt a small splinter of hope shatter. He had thought there may have been something the elf could do… Glorfindel seemed to produce a small bottle out of seemingly nothing, "You may take this, it will help with the dreams and the visions you see, Prince Fili."

Fili pressed his lips into a thin line, unsure, though he took the bottle anyway, "What about the tingling?"

Glorfindel, who had since busied himself with something else, suddenly looked up, eyes startled. "What tingling?"

The Prince felt a pang of worry enter his heart, what if the elf had missed something? _What if there is something wrong?_ "Gandalf said it was nerve damage," he said nervously, hoping to offer a reasonable explanation, "will this do anything?"

Glorfindel seemed to be looking somewhere else again, after a moment, his eyes turned to Fili's wide ones. "Yes, it may help with that"

A terrible feeling suddenly overcoming him, like a large ball of fire and tension, pressing the insides of him until he felt he might burst; the elf was being terribly vague. "What exactly does this potion do? You said it will help with dreams and visions and now you say it will help with a tickling feeling," he paused for breath, heat rising to his face. Why couldn't anything just be _simple?_ "Yet it does not do what I need it to do the most. It won't bring them back. Will it. _It won't bring them back!"_

Throughout his outburst, the elf seemed to have remained composed, unaffected by the tension that had built in the room. Calmly, he folded his hands in front of him, "Death is not the end, Prince Fili."

He frowned, "what?"

Glorfindel smiled, "you shall see."

* * *

It was not for many an hour that all left his bed-chambers. Glorfindel was the first to leave after he spoke his vague wisdoms. He was soon followed by Gandalf, then Dwalin who had decided he best keep an eye on the elf for safety. He had thought his mother would stay until she saw him drink a drop of the potion, but instead, she had said it was his choice, and she would not make him. He supposed she still held some suspicion for the elves. Róskva had yet to leave, though she wouldn't be far when she did. She was to take the first shift guarding his door, as was his kin's recommendation. He thought the sudden increase in security was a little unnecessary seeing as only weeks ago he was wondering around in the wilderness- but he supposed they were right in their judgment. He could not walk now, and with that, he could barely defend himself properly, and back then, which wasn't really that long ago, he wasn't about to become King. He wondered how many would only serve him because of his status, power and wealth, and not because, as his uncle would say, they were loyal, honourable and had a willing heart.

Dismissing the troubling thought, he looked back to Róskva, whose attention seemed to be entranced by the walls of his chambers, bright emerald riddled with gold. The lack of light from lit candles made the gold shine especially bright, providing its own light. He trusted her, and he felt that was wise. She had been as loyal to him as any member of his uncle's company had been, despite how little they knew each other, and for no other motive other than she simply cared about him. Such friends were a rarity. Gathering some courage, he drew himself up as best he could, "Will you join me for a ride on the morrow?"

Róskva spun around on her feet, her auburn-brown hair flying around with her. It was drawn back, two long locks on either side of her head were twisted around into a neat knot at the back of her head, the rest loosely flowing down her back in waves. She wore no braids or beads, for they symbolised status, family and deeds. Fili thought she deserved all the braids and beads in the world.

She looked shocked, but not in anger, "I- uh. …Yes. Yes, I will join you on a ride tomorrow morning, thank you Fili," she smiled.

He smiled back at her, grateful, "my thanks are with you, Róskva," he nodded to the door, "I won't keep you here any longer, I know you have duties of which you must attend to."

Róskva bowed, politely, but there seemed to be a hint of sarcasm in it, " _thank you, my lord,_ " she said, with a smirk, yet it held no malice. Then, she left through the door, still wearing a smile on her face.

He felt what could have once been a hint of a laugh from inside him; he supposed Róskva was right. As of late, his speech had been getting a little _articulate._ He supposed that is what happens when you are to be king.

Not knowing what else to do, he laid down on the bed, lifting his legs into place. Already he could see the muscle that was once in abundance slipping away into nothing. Sighing, he drew the soft furs and blue blankets up over them and to his chest. Better to hide them and forget, for a while. Carefully he leant over, to see the flame of one candle that still glowed on in the darkness. He knew he should put it out, but he no longer liked the dark. It wasn't safe anymore. He turned away, looking to the ceiling. He had always slept on his back, and for that he was grateful. It would be much harder to break a habit of sleeping on one's side.

Though no matter how long he tried, he could not seem to fall asleep. His heart raced, and his mind whispered. He was afraid, afraid of what would come when he drifted off into the unknown blackness of sleep. Groaning, he pulled himself up into a sitting position against the headboard. He ran a hand across his face and back through his hair. He glanced at the small bottle of potion on the stand. Not yet. He looked around, and his eyes landed on the fresh parchment on the desk. Maybe…

His mother had often advised him to write what he felt when he could not speak what he did. Though he would never show it to anyone, as a dwarfing, he had often written pages upon pages of his thoughts, clearing out his mind, and the jumble of words and emotions it had become. Taking a breath, he pulled back the furs and lifted his legs over the side of the bed. His chair was within reach, as it always was, and he pulled it towards him. Carefully, he let himself almost fall into the seat, his legs following. He was glad no one was around to see.

He moved towards the desk; it was chair less. Why would he possibly need a different one when he seemed bound to spend the rest of his life in one? The thought stabbed him like the blade the orc had wielded. Sometimes it was easier to forget… Hesitantly he picked up the quill, dipped it, and began to write.

 _I do not know why I am doing this. It has been years since I last wrote my thoughts on paper, not since my father was killed in battle. Now, my brother and uncle have been too. I am not alone, I have family still, but I feel alone. No longer can I hear my brother laugh, share in his jokes and watch his reckless behaviour; no longer can I see my uncle lead, get lost and practice unnecessary stubbornness. They are gone from this world, and I feel as though my heart has followed them. I have not cried yet- I am not sure if it because I cannot, or will not. I didn't even cry when I saw their bodies, or when I buried them. That frightens me._

 _I can no longer walk, and that is a different kind of pain. I would rather not think of it. Those around me have been very kind, providing me with means of transport. A Mearas has agreed to be my mount. Though I can sense their uncertainty around the topic, they act as though it is not there. Like avoiding looking at a scar on someone's face, you know it is there, yet you know you must not stare. I met a small girl in the tents, Ari, her father has just died, and she has no family yet. We have taken her in; she is a brave girl, and a kind one. I care about her; I would not see her come to any more harm. Glorfindel, an elf had travelled with Gandalf the Grey to help me. He said I would never walk again- I am not surprised. For the dreams and nerve damage, he gave me a potion, one drop a night; I have not tried it yet, but I suspect I will when I am done writing this._

 _The nightmares are growing strong now. Sometimes they are of the battle- the tunnels, being trapped, the orcs, lying on the ice all those hours, and most often- their deaths. I never saw them happen, but I see them in my dreams. Sometimes I see them alive in my dreams as well, though they are never how I remember them. They are cruel, whispering things to me. We buried their bodies not long ago, and soon I will be made King._

 _I don't know how I am to do it._

 _Not without them; not without my uncle's guidance and my brothers support._

 _Some wish for Dain to be king, that is no secret. He has offered to take my place until I feel ready. I am not sure, but it is not for power or wealth that I will accept the crown, but for duty._

 _Róskva is dutiful. She has been at my side since I first started being able to stay awake for a whole day. I respect her for that, and maybe I feel something else, but I can't be sure._

 _One thing I am sure of is that things will never be the same again._

He put down his pen, leaning back into his chair as much as he could as he ran a hand over his face once more. He didn't know how he felt now. Certainly, nothing had changed, though he felt the smallest bit lighter, having ordered his thoughts. Though he still felt heavy of heart, though he wasn't sure there was anything left inside of it. He laid the paper to one side before moving back to his bed. He made quicker work of getting into it, and once again did not blow out the candle. Instead, he reached for the bottle, and with delicate movements he allowed a single drop to fall into his mouth. Sighing, he felt his eyes grow heavy; it seemed to take so much effort to keep them open; so he let them close.

Soon, for the first time in weeks, he fell into dreamless sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot, Róskva, Ari and any other original characters. Thanks so much for reading this far! Things are about to get …not natural.**

 **So sorry for the long wait, I had some technical issues.**

 **Anywho, as always, I would like to thank RMoriluvr for editing my chapters!**

 **And now, on with the show!**

* * *

 _Chapter 9: To be a King_

The sun had just risen above the horizon, where ground met sky; pink and golden hues melted together across a blue canvas, painted just for the two of them. Fili always loved sunrise, and by the smile on Róskva's face as she gazed into the morning sun's sky, he felt she did too. They were on horseback, Fili on his Mearas, and Róskva on her own pony, both halted at the edge of the stable paddock, newly restored. There was no grass, at least none that could be seen beneath the thick blanket of snow. All the surviving mounts were resting safely inside the stables- horse, pony, goat, and boar alike.

Looking fondly at his companion, Fili gestured to the world beyond, "Shall we?"

Róskva nodded, smiling in agreement. "We shall."

With that they rode on, to the remnants of a once green landscape, now snow covered, hiding the dragon burnt and war-torn landscape. Fili would have thought it beautiful, had it not been for what he knew was below the surface of the perfect white blanket. Though he supposed, just this morning, he could pretend it was just snow and find it beautiful.

There was still a faint hint of smoke in the air, but the crispness of the cold distracted them from it. In the snow, even though all were welcome to seek refuge in the Mountain this winter, there were still some tents pitched for those who had work to do in the open or those who did not wish to enter the mountain for fear of cursed gold. Many were mostly the men of Lake-town, waiting for Lake-town or Dale to be fully restored. Yet, the land was busy with people, some riding from between Dale and Erebor, some just walking, others working. He saw a few dwarves with bows, accompanied by an elf or two as they trekked away from the mountain- to hunt. Many a dwarf chose to hunt instead of farm, for farming was seen as unfavourable by dwarves, and so they left that job to the men and elves.

It was good to see all working with each other, not divided by race or past disputes.

He looked among the faces, to see if he could recognise any of them, perhaps a dwarf from the Blue Mountains, a childhood friend. He did recognise someone.

Some two.

No… It can not be. He shook his head, his eyes closed. When he opened them, they were gone. _Just my imagination_ , he thought to himself.

"Fili?" Róskva asked, her voice concerned.

He smiled at her, trying to seem reassured, though he did not feel it, "Just thought I saw something, it's nothing."

She didn't look convinced, but she shrugged nonetheless. "So, where are we going?"

He offered a small smile, "I don't know yet."

With that, they rode on at a brisk canter, out past Dale and towards the lake where the woods still grew. Though not the woods of Mirkwood, for that was too far to ride to in a single day, though the river that ran from Esgaroth was not so. It felt nice, to be moving so freely; he could almost forget that he could feel nothing in his legs, or all the other troubles of his heart.

They came upon the river after a while, the ride so far filled with an awkward silence that usually accompanied such an occasion. The surface of the river was frozen and cool, undamaged by the events of the places it ran between. They relished the place; both had been craving to be in the presence of a place untouched by death and destruction. Icicles ran down from the trees, and fresh ice and snow covered every surface. This snow was pure, and Fili didn't have to pretend anymore.

"Fili?" Róskva asked, "Why didn't you bring Ari with us?"

Fili felt himself flush, and he prayed that it was unnoticeable against that caused by the cold air. He wondered if she had misunderstood him when he had asked. He didn't know what he felt towards her yet; he knew it was something, but he wanted to get to know her better, perhaps he could muster the courage to court her in the future. He wasn't sure if he was ready to just yet, so much had happened; he wanted to be sure. He felt this was a start.

"She can't ride," he said, then noticing Róskva's saddened expression, quickly continued, "and I also wished to spend some time with you."

She smiled, looking down, "Well then, while we are here I thought it best we should discuss supplies."

He wanted to laugh, but instead, he shook his head, bearing a small smile as he looked to the skies in wonder of this strange dwarrodam. Sometimes she seemed so fearless and unwavering, and now she was reminding him of a worrying hobbit. "Let's put that aside for the moment. I want to talk about something else- supplies, grief and death are all that has filled my thoughts of late," he turned his head to her, "I want to know more about you."

Róskva came to a halt, seeming to decide that the clearing next to the river they had stumbled upon was a suitable place to rest. She gave him a curious look, "What do you mean?"

He asked Felaróf to go down on his legs so he could dismount. Carefully, he began to undo the straps around his legs. As he did this, he thought of various things he would like to know.

"Where did you come from?" He carefully pulled his right leg over the horse's back, so he was sat side saddle, Róskva standing close in case he needed help. "What's your favorite shade of blue? What makes you happy or mad?" he asked. With a heave of his arms, he pulled himself off and onto the ground with a humph. He relaxed against Felaróf's side, who was patiently lying still, muzzling his way through the snow to the growth underneath. He pulled his coat around him to ward off the cold from his torso; he knew his legs could still be affected by the cold snow beneath them, but he could not feel it, so he did not care. Once he was settled, he looked to see Róskva sat on a fallen log just across from him. He gave her a small smile "Anything."

She smiled, though her eyes were downcast.

Suddenly he felt worried he had asked the wrong thing, hastily he went to correct himself, "Unless you would rather not answer anything. You could ask me something, or we could just talk- "

"Your questions are fine Fili, and I do not mind answering them," she said with a reassuring smile, though he could detect a hint of hesitance behind her eyes. "As for where I came from- the Iron Hills. Though, not to a well-known or noble family, or anyone I have ever known, as I'm sure you have noticed," with this she absentmindedly fiddled with a lock of unbranded hair, "I was found as a baby, abandoned."

Fili raised his eyebrows; the thought had crossed his mind before, but he couldn't help but feel alarmed by it. It was very rare that a dwarfling was abandoned, particularly a female for they were far rarer. "Do you know why?" He asked gently.

She shook her head, "Not for certain. War I suspect, or perhaps I was the result of a frivolous night; unplanned." She fiddled with her coat as she said this, apparently shamed.

He wasn't sure what to say to that, it was true that dwarflings brought to the world from un-courting couples were often thought darkly upon by those from older times. But to completely abandon a child- Fili wondered if she truly was from an ancient and noble family, most likely not wishing to besmirch their name, or perhaps to keep her from harm… "I'm sure they had a reason, but I can tell you this- they made a horrible mistake, leaving you. You would have made them proud," he promised.

She gave him a curious look, and he wondered if what he had said was too, well, something. Nervously he cleared his throat, "No, what is your favourite shade of blue?"

The corners of her lips turned up slightly at his change of subject, and Fili wondered if he was imagining things again when she seemed to be looking at his own blue eyes. "Sky blue," she answered, after a moment. "The sky blue you see when spring is half way through, and the wind is but a breeze, and barely a cloud is in sight," she explained.

He wanted to chuckle, "And you jest at me for being articulate."

She laughed, "Jests are one thing that makes me happy."

"What else?"

"Simple things I suppose. I know it is unlike a dwarf to think so, but I find beauty and happiness in simple things. The way the sun rises with colours of pink and yellow, the smell of rain, spending time among friends, a morning ride," she said truthfully.

"All things most don't appreciate until they lose them," he said wisely; sadly.

She nodded, "As for what makes me mad, well, I suppose disrespect is the main reason for any anger I have felt."

He tilted his head, "How so?"

"It bothers me when people disrespect those who deserve it, but I do not honestly feel anger until someone who shows no respect demands it for them-self, I suppose."

He agreed with what she said, though he dearly hoped she was not trying to suggest something about his character that he had not noticed.

Seeming to notice his uncomfortable look, she rushed to elaborate. "I didn't mean to sound as if I was accusing you of anything, Prince Fili. I was speaking of people like that dreaded lake town servant, him and his master if I recall."

"Yes, they were a rather odious pair, weren't they?"

She hummed in agreement. "You will make a far better leader than either of them, even if you decide not to take the crown."

He thought about that for a moment. The weight of the crown had been hovering over his head since that horrid day, and he had been doing his best to ignore it all the while, without prevail. He knew it was his duty, and he knew to take the crown was the only way to fulfill it.

"I will take it," he said. But I don't want to do it alone.

He was not alone.

* * *

A crown was upon his head. The Raven Crown. Dain Ironfoot had placed it there, under the eye of Gandalf the Grey and his Lady Mother, Dis. The crown had sat on many heads before, some lost it to time, others battle; some simply passed it on. His uncle had worn it, for a time. Now it sat on his head; for how long he did not know.

"Long live the King," some called. Others cried "King Fili!" to the air, the words echoing through the mountain halls. He had not expected to hear those words for many years, and nor had he wanted to, when he learnt what it meant. He would only inherit the crown for two reasons, either his uncle was close to passing or had been killed. Thorin had been killed, and now he was King.

He felt his eyes grow heavy with tears, and for the first time since the battle, he let one, just one, fall. It fell down his cheek, leaving a trail behind it. It fell onto his useless legs, and he wanted to cry more. But he didn't. Instead, he drew breath and held his head up high. He was a King now, and he should not cry.

The long marble path had been repaired and stretched high above the rest of Erebor to the throne he was seated on. Not an inch of the marble could be seen, for all across it stood dwarf, men, elf and hobbit alike. His mother stood to the left, and Dain and Gandalf to the right. He could see Róskva, near the company who stood at the front. She looked proud, and there was a smile on her face; it had been no more than three days since their morning ride near the river. Not all bore a smile, which he could see. Some of the dwarves from the Iron Hills and the Blue Mountains stood respectfully, their mouths pressed into a thin line, only speaking when duty called for it. It did not bother him; it would be impossible to have full support for his claim. He decided he must be watchful. Bard and Thranduil stood behind the company, next to each other. Each had brought their children, who stood beside them. The Elvenking and Bowman seemed closer as of late; he suspected a strong friendship had been forged between them. He took it as a sign that perhaps all three Kings, himself included, would be able to get along.

He continued to look among the crowd as they called and chanted, many with their swords and axes brandished in the air. "Long live King Fili!" Dwalin cried, waving both Grasper and Keeper, tears in his eyes. He smiled at his friend, who was as much his uncle as Thorin had been. Then he saw them, again, and his smile fell. They stood just behind Dwalin, one with deep, proud blue eyes, and the other with dark brown eyes and matching hair.

 _Uncle… Kili…_

Thorin met his eyes, and his face turned to shock, for a moment. Then, he smiled. A warm, proud smile. Kili did the same; his face was less composed, and more, well, _Kili._

He drew a sharp breath at the sight. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to run to them, or away. _They cannot be here. They are dead. Aren't they?_ He shunned himself for thinking such a thing. Of course, they were, he had buried them himself, seen their pale soulless bodies. He shook his head, and when he looked back they were gone, like last time.

He composed himself from his moment of panic. _I am a King now,_ he reminded himself. He must not lose his head. It was just his imagination.

 _He shivered._

* * *

Ari, even with her short little legs, was able to maintain pace alongside his wheelchair. Though not without some effort- he was unable to go at a quick pace in his chair. It was proving difficult to gain speed on anything that wasn't a flat surface, like the ground outside the mountain he was moving across. He supposed that is what he had Felaróf for.

"Where are we going, Fili?" she asked curiously, jogging now and then to gain the lead over him.

He almost laughed at her bluntness, in the few days since his coronation scarcely anyone had called him by anything other than, 'Your Grace', 'My King', or 'King Fili'. It was exhausting, so he found it quite refreshing to be called by his own name without any hesitation. She was but a child after all, and unaware that it was considered impolite. He did not wish to tell her though. "You'll see in a moment."

When that moment came, they were on the edge of a small pen, next to stables. A moment later, a dwarf emerged from the stable, leading a small pony, no bigger than 14 hands. Fili had chosen it himself, it wasn't an old pony, but had enough distance under his girth to be suitable for even the youngest of riders. It was grey, with a shaggy mane and tail, long enough to braid.

Ari squealed incitement, "Is she for me?"

Fili chuckled, "I believe _he_ is."

Ari approached the pony hesitantly, slowly outstretching a hand.

"Try not to sneak," Fili said gently.

Heeding his advice, Ari took another confident step towards the pony, so she was flush against the fence. She held her hand under the pony's muzzle and let it smell. "What's his name?" She asked, smiling at the way the pony muzzled at her hand in search of treats.

He smiled warmly, "Arrow, I believe."

"Arrow," Ari repeated, sliding between the fence railings as the stableman held Arrow. Though she had not ridden a great deal, the girl had spent time around horses on the ground. Since the battle, there had been many reasons to travel by horseback. She stroked its neck and played with its mane fondly. Finally, she turned to Fili. "Can I ride him?" she asked hopefully.

"I don't see why not."

As Ari got ready to ride, he made his way to the gate of the pen in his wheeled chair. He came to a stop a meter or so away from the pony. The stableman was holding the reins of the pony as Ari stuck her foot into the stirrup. Carefully, she swung herself into the saddle and took hold of the reins with the grip Fili had shown her.

He smiled encouragingly, "Right then, to move on, look where you wish to go, and squeeze the side opposite to the direction you wish to go, or both legs to go forward or faster," She did so, with a bit of concentration about squeezing the correct side of the horse. "Squeeze the right rein a little bit to turn his head," he offered as he watched. She had a nice seat, a little unbalanced, but that would come soon.

She walked him a circle for a while, occasionally turning changing direction or going into a trot. "How do I stop him? "she called after a while of wondering in circles. He had noticed that Ari had been pulling back on the reins for the past minute or so, with no success, but she was in no danger so he had waited to see if she could do it. "Well, you could either sit down really heavily in the saddle, and squeeze and release the reins quickly if he doesn't stop, or, you could turn one rein into your inner thigh if you need to make a quick stop. Just make sure you squeeze the same leg as the rein your turning," he advised.

Ari visibly sunk back into the saddle, slowing the pony went down to a walk, then she gave a quick squeeze of the reins and the pony came to a halt. "How to do you know what to do if you can't feel your legs?" she asked inquisitively, walking off again.

He dropped his eyes for a moment, hiding the sudden pang of dismay he felt. "I once could."

"Oh," she said solemnly, dropping her own eyes.

He suspected she was worried that she had upset him. _I can't have that._ "So, do you want to go a bit faster?"

She was already flying.

* * *

The halls of Erebor were quiet, and the only sound that could be heard was the from the turning of his chair's wheels, rolling easily along the smooth surface of the polished rock. He was one of the few still up; many had settled down for the night in their own quarters. He had spent most of the day signing things, reading paperwork, approving plans and listening to his people's needs, and acting on them if possible. Just as he had done since a crown was set upon his head. Though none required any strenuous physical energy, his mind was tired, strained from reading fine prints.

His crown sat heavy on his head as he made his way to his quarters, and he felt himself sag in his chair. He needed to stay awake though, long enough to get to his chambers and take his medicine, then he couldn't care less where he slept. It wouldn't be the first time he had fallen asleep in his chair these last few weeks. If felt odd, to consider it had just been over six weeks since the battle when it felt like months.

As he continued, he suddenly saw a flicker of movement in the corner of the eye, and for a brief moment he thought it was them again. He shook his head, better to not think about that. He pushed the wheels of his chair forward, desperate to get back to his chambers so he could sleep.

Then he was falling.

His crown landed next to his head on the cold marble with a clang. He gasped sharply, pain ripping through his torso where Azog's blade had ripped through him. His head throbbed where it had hit the hard floor, and his ears rang with the sound of a thousand bells. Someone is attacking me, he realised. He was in danger, and he needed to react. Róskva had placed several blades within the sides of his chair, but first he had to reach them.

First he had to stay alive.

Drawing a deep breath, he pushed himself up onto his palms and twisted around so he was propped up on one elbow, only his side exposed. He looked up to see his attacker. A dwarf, of the Iron Hills, judging by his clothing. He had a dagger in hand, and a snarl on his face. Fili moved to drag himself towards his chair, but then came a sharp blow to his abdomen. He cried out, his torso burning. Desperately, he grabbed his chair with an outstretched arm, and with whatever strength he could muster he pulled it towards him, quickly reaching for the closest weapon.

With a snarl, he lashed out wildly at the dwarf, managing to draw a long red cut along his arm. The dwarf stopped, inspecting his arm, not seeming to mind the pain. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet his. He smirked, once again raising his blade.

Fili felt fear in his heart. He shivered, dagger at the ready from where he lay.

Then the dwarf flew, towards the solid marble wall, as if an invisible force had suddenly thrown him from the very ground. He slumped down the wall, unconscious.

Fili let himself fall back down to the ground, resting on his hands. His breathing felt ragged, and he felt tears prickling at his eyes. Only once before had he felt so defenseless. So helpless. Drawing a deep breath, he raised his head and cried out for help, for anybody.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot, Róskva, Ari and any other original characters. Thanks so much for reading this far! Things are about to get …not natural.**

 **Thank you so much to all those who have reviewed, and those who are still reading this.**

 **As always, I would like to thank RMoriluvr for editing my chapte** rs!

* * *

 _Chapter 10: Now I am King, I understand._

Fili was in his room, and had been since Dwalin found him; which seemed to be becoming a common occurrence as of late. They had found him on the ground, crying out for help, his attacker unconscious on the floor. The would-be-assassin had been escorted to a cell by Roskva, and his mother had been notified. He dreaded the conversation that would follow. Though what he dreaded more was the decision he was going to have to make on the morrow. He didn't know what he should do, and not knowing what else to do, he wrote:

 _I am lost._

 _A dwarf attacked me this night. I was saved, by some unseen force. It seemed to throw the dwarf against the wall. I can't help but connect it to the other things I have been seeing. I know I shouldn't. They're dead. They can't come back._

 _I have considered it may have been Mr Baggins, though I am not certain he has the strength to hurl a fully-grown dwarf high into the air, but he has proven himself to be full of surprises- I shall question him about it later._

 _A more pressing matter is the decision I am to make tomorrow. As King, it is my duty to oversee the trial of the dwarf, and decide his fate. It's odd, the future of someone's life in my hands. It feels like power, and I am not sure it is all I imagined it to be as a dwarfling. He would have been the reason for my death, and I would be the reason for his. Some would call it justice. I do not think it is justice. I think it is survival. I seem to be only surviving now. Surviving a fall, surviving their deaths, surviving being King. I wish to live again._

 _I don't think I can without them._

* * *

Shaking himself off, he put the quill down, and replaced it with the bottle of medication he had been given. One drop the elf had said. He took two.

The throne room was silent. All had been summoned, and all stood before him. The company stood closest, as they were the closest to him- Dis, Róskva and Ari among them. He tried not to look for any other familiar faces. He knew that by now they must know what had happened, though he doubted anyone else did- though he did not miss the eyes all flickering to the dwarf shackled down below the throne. He looked out among the crowd a while longer, searching for other familiar faces. He could not see them.

He felt comforted by the stone behind his back, and the guards at his side. Though it was not enough; he could not stop himself from searching among the crowd, for a dagger, or a dangerous glint in an eye. Even the hair on the back of his neck stood up, as though someone stood behind him. He knew he must not show his fear. He was King, and the action of one did not account for the beliefs of all, so it would be foolish to believe that all were conspiring against him. Though, a belief is hard to kill, and it spreads, good or bad. He wondered if this was why his uncle hated all elves so much, even those who had not wronged him.

He drew breath, shaking himself from his thoughts. "I know many of you do not know why you have been summoned here, so it is up to me to tell you." He waited, searching for a reaction; a few whispered to one another. He glanced down to his would-be-assassin; he had not moved. "Last night, I was attacked by this dwarf," this brought forth more than a whisper among the crowd. "We all know the penalty for treason," he paused, "but I would see to it that this dwarf does not go without a fair trial." He saw a few of the company nod their heads, and some merely looked at each other in confusion. "I learnt once that there is far more to a decision than the action carried out. I would like to know what this dwarf's motives were." In the corner of his eye he saw Bilbo offer him a knowing smile.

He looked down to the dwarf, "Frár of the Iron Hills, what do you have to say in your defence?"

The dwarf turned on his feet to face him, and he sneered, eyes burning with anger. "Only that I wanted my children to have a true King to count on. An able-bodied King, who has always been there for his people, not some exiled dwarf's distant relative who doesn't even have the use of his legs," he paused, seeming to take in the reaction of the crowd, then he leaned in closer, smirking. "Tell me, _King_ , can you even produce an heir?"

Then the room was in an uproar.

Fili recoiled, taken aback by the dwarf's words. He wasn't sure himself of the answer. He felt cold all of a sudden, and he shivered. He waited for the room to calm down for a moment, trying to maintain his own composure at the sudden uproar. Dwalin was roaring in outrage, and had to be held back by the Ri brothers. His mother looked ready to split Frár's head open, and Róskva was glaring daggers at him, hand on her mace. Dain himself shook his head, ashamed of his kin.

Enough was enough, he decided. Though he could not stand, he still had his voice. " _Shazara_ _!_ " He roared.

The room fell silent.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, and gave a final look at the dwarf before turning his gaze to the Lord of the Iron Hills. "Lord Dain, did you know anything of Frár's plans?"

Lord Dain shook his head, meeting his eye, "I swear to ya, my King, I knew nothing of his plans, and nor do I doubt your claim. You're the legitimate heir, and I would have no other dwarf take your place."

 _I don't know if anyone would wish to be in my place_ , he thought. King, certainly. But with your kin dead before their time, and without the use of your legs- no. He doubted anyone would want that. He trusted Dain, and it did not seem to be in his character to conspire against the King; his family. He considered this for a moment longer, and then nodded decisively. "This dwarf is one of your people, Lord Dain, so I ask this of you. What fate would Frár receive under your rule?"

"His head would already be on a spike."

Fili closed his eyes, drawing breath. He knew what Dain's answer would be before he even asked it. Death was the penalty for Treason; very few escaped with exile. Very few. He had the power to condemn Frár to either. He could feel the eyes on him, waiting for him to give judgement; waiting to see what decision he would make, and what kind of King he was.

Finally, he opened his eyes and met the dwarf's eyes. "Frár, your Lord would have you feeding the crows," he watched the dwarf closely now, "But he is not your King; so I will give you a choice." He paused again, watching, "Forsake your braids and claim of any lands you own and be exiled into the west, so you may see what it is to be _just some exiled dwarf_. Or you face the axe."

"Then I choose the axe."

He felt himself grow cold, "You would abandon your family?"

"I will not have my family name besmirched by _living in exile_ ," Frár growled.

He shook his head, "You will not besmirch the name of your family Frár, only your own, and that you did by betraying your King."

"Not my King."

 _So this is how it will be_. His uncle's words echoed in his mind, _o_ _ne day you will be King, and you will understand_ … He understood now. The crown felt heavy on his head.

He sighed, defeated. "Then I, King Fili of Erebor, first of his name, sentence you to die."

* * *

The cells were dark, the normal bright emerald green of the marble walls becoming hard, black rock the deeper one went into the mountain. It was cold too, so very cold. It was like a cave, hard and unpolished, with only the cells showing a hint of dwarfish carving, but even that was crude and damaged from the wake of Smaug, yet the bards still stood strong and unyielding.

All but one of the cells were empty, yet he had heard that old corpses of forgotten dwarves had been found in there when the rebuilding had begun- most likely trapped in their prisons when Smaug had taken the mountain, never to be seen again.

Fili moved his chair to the occupied cell slowly, cautious even now, despite Dwalin and Nori guarding his back. Frár watched him from the back of his cell with cold, green eyes. He made no move to react to his presence. Though, he was certain the dwarf knew that the time had come. Fili drew a deep breath, "Frár, have you made your farewells to your family?" He had given the dwarf a day to speak to them, sending word for them himself once had their names.

"I have."

Fili nodded, before looking to his friends, signalling them to escort Frár to his fate. _Why did you have to choose this?_ He wondered. _What if it was someone I loved waiting in there?_ He wasn't sure what he would do.

The walk, well walk in Frár's case, was long and silent, and every hallway seemed to drag on for ever. He tried not to pay attention to his attacker's sneers as Dwalin had to lift him up stair cases were no other support had been added. He trusted very few to this, and it was easier just to go someplace else while that happened. Someplace in his head. At one staircase, Frár spat some insult at him, earning him a blow to the stomach from Nori, "You will not speak to our King in such a way!"

"No, pay him no mind. His fate will be the same either way," he called back, earning a regretful nod.

Eventually, sunlight graced their faces, making their eyes squint at the sudden brightness. As soon as they were noticed, all murmurs and whispers ceased, and were replaced by the rhythmic, slow pounding of drums. Fili made his way to the circular platform, taking in all the faces he saw, but never making eye contact with any of them. He wondered if Frár's children were there, waiting for their father to die.

He knew that Ari was not among the crowd, and for that, he was grateful. She had seen so much death for one so young; he did not wish to add another to her memory.

They were still inside the mountain, but a large opening had been cut into the side of the mountain, allowing the setting sun to shine through. A line ran through the room, marking where the sun was, and stopping at the uncut rock in the centre of the chamber. Along the line was three different spots. Each signalled a different part of the execution. When the sun reached the final spot, Frár's life would be no more. Thorin had told him about this room once, and how it worked. He said that time might come when he had no choice to use it, but he hoped it never would.

He wondered if he had made the wrong choice, but he could not go back on his word now.

Frár stood in the middle of the room, waiting.

Eventually, the sun reached the first spot. Two dwarves stepped forward, thin, razor sharp blades in their hands. "Frár, for your treason you will be stripped of your braids, and with them your titles, deeds and land," he said, as well as he could. The words stuck in his throat.

Frár held his head high, not breaking eye contact with Fili. He did not beg, and if he felt fear, it did not show in his eyes. Slowly, the knives cut away at his dark hair, greying here and there. The braids dropped to the ground—titles, deeds and land with them. He saw Frár's shackled hands clench into fists.

Then they were waiting again, only the sound of drums to fill the silence.

Finally, the sun reached the second spot, "Frár, do you have any last words you wish to say?" He asked, his voice beginning to shake. A shiver ran through him.

The dwarf sighed, "I still stand by what I said, and my beliefs," he paused, looking off to the crowd, "and I apologize to my kin; I failed at bringing them the true king."

If it were not forbidden, Fili imagined that the room would once again be in up in whispers, instead many eyes glared with an anger that would rival even Smaug. He noticed the sunlight reach the third spot, "Do you have anything else you wish to say?"

Frár sneered, " _Ishkhaqwi ai durugnu_!"

He composed himself, then nodded to Dain, who was waiting by the stone, battle-axe in hand. The drums echoed in the hollow chamber, like a heartbeat. Dain pushed Frár down by his shoulders, so that his head rested on the rock, neck bare and not for one moment did Frár break eye contact.

The axe was brought down, and Fili saw red. The drums stopped.

Frár was no more.

Then, amongst the silence, a child screamed. Frár's child, and Fili wanted to scream too.

 _What have I done?_

* * *

Sleep would not come. No matter how hard Fili tried. The potion only stopped dreams; it didn't make one fall asleep, no matter how many drops he took. He could only see red. It was odd; he had killed before, but only ever orcs, goblins or trolls. Never had he killed one of his own kind, and never anything like that. It felt different; it felt wrong. But what was worse was the screams, those horrible, grief ridden screams; the screams of a child. He had taken their father away from them. He had taken someone they loved. It made him think of his own father, when he had died. He had never wanted anyone to have to feel what he had felt the day his father had been killed, and yet he had caused someone else to feel just that, and it was his fault alone. _How could I have done that?_

He could not think of anything else, and he could not move out of bed to write. His working limbs felt as useless as his legs, and his heart would not stop pounding, like the drums echoing in his mind. So, he sat, staring at the ceiling, alone with his thoughts. He wondered how disappointed Thorin would be in him, and what his brother would think of him. He wondered if Kili would even look at him the same way.

His thoughts were broken by the sound of knocking at his door. He frowned. _Who in Middle Earth?_ He suddenly felt his heart grow cold, what if Frár wasn't the only one-

"Fili, it's Róskva. May I enter?"

He sighed in relief. "You may," he called back, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He suddenly felt a little odd at only wearing his night attire, a tunic and a simple pair of breeches, and not his formal attire and crown.

Róskva entered, looking a little confused. "I'm sorry for the late hour, I just had the rather odd feeling that I needed to come here," she frowned, as if trying to understand what she just said. She started to turn on her heel, "I'm sorry, I think I shall take my leave- "

"No! I mean, please. Please, stay." The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them.

She gave him a look of surprise, "Alright." She walked further into the room, glancing at the pages he had written as she made her way past his desk. "Your mother, Lady Dis, was looking for you after the execution," she reported.

This did not surprise him; he would have gone to her, if he had not felt so ashamed. "I needed to be alone."

She turned around to face him, her demeanour calm, unlike his own, "You were very brave today."

"No, Frár was the brave one."

She shook her head, sitting down by his legs, "Being a fool does not make you brave," she said firmly.

"He had the right to support Dain," he argued.

This time she nodded, "Aye, he did. Though he took it to far."

He couldn't argue with that. So instead he bowed his head, "He had a family."

"We all have a family, dead or alive," she said, then seemed to get lost in thought; he wondered if she was thinking about her own. Her eyes seemed to wander when she was thinking about something, often looking off to the side.

He drew breath, "I never want to do that again," he confided, "I don't want to take someone's family away like that again."

She moved to sit beside him, "I know." She stared out at the far wall, joining him in thought. After a while, she turned her head to the table beside the bed. "How much of that have you taken?" She asked, her voice serious.

"It only stops dreams, and does nothing else."

She moved Glorfindel's potion away, "You don't know that. It could be doing anything to you. The elf said to only take one drop; I am sure there's a reason for that."

Fili looked at her in surprise, not many, except perhaps his mother and Ari, spoke so freely to him now. It reminded him of a time before the battle.

She sighed, "I'm sorry I sound so angry. I am just worried. You're not looking out for yourself, and you keep insisting on patrolling these halls by yourself without a proper guard-"

"Then you be my guard."

She didn't seem to notice, "There could be anybody out- sorry?"

He smiled, "You are right, I have been reckless, for the sake of my pride. Seeing as you are so concerned for my safety, I am asking you if you would be my personal guard?"

She looked at him in shock, "I- You haven't even seen me fight!" She protested.

He shrugged "I am sure an opportunity will arise."

She stared at him for a moment, "Fine, I'll accept, as long as you let me help you learn how to fight in that chair of yours,"

He smiled, "Then I name you the personal guard of the king."

* * *

Bilbo Baggins didn't consider himself to be easily startled anymore after his adventure, but when Fili, King of Erebor, suddenly appeared behind him one morning in the royal dining room, as well, he jumped quite a bit.

"Master Baggins." Fili had said, not bothering to at least tap him on the shoulder.

After recovering from his initial surprise at being interrupted at breakfast, he turned to face his friend. He almost let out a gasp of surprise when he saw his eyes. They were _changed_ _._ Only a small slither of the sparkle that had once shone in his eyes still did. Now, they were colder, sadder. They looked like Thorin's eyes. He knew that yesterday was hard for Fili, it was hard for himself as well, but the change was jarring. "Yes, Fili?"

"I was only wondering, in the last few weeks have you developed a peculiar amount of strength that you otherwise did not possess before?"

He frowned, wondering what in Middle-Earth he was talking about. "What kind of strength?"

"The kind that would allow one to hurl a dwarf into the air and up a wall?" he offered.

He stared at the King for a moment, wondering if perhaps he had gone mad. "Can't say I have. Why? Have you witnessed anything like that recently?"

Fili went white as a sheep, "no…" he said in a high pitched voice, "Just curious."

Bilbo smiled, at least some things stayed the same.

* * *

Shazara = Silent

Ishkhaqwi ai durugnu! = I spit on your grave.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot, Róskva, Ari and any other original characters.**

 **Thank you so much to all those who have reviewed, and those who are still reading this. Once again, so sorry for the wait! I have been working on something else at the moment, and I have to be in the 'hobbit' mindset to write this story properly.**

 **Also, this chapter is mostly Fili & Róskva centred. However, it should be noted that I'm not trying to suggest that a relationship will fix everything.**

 **As always, I would like to thank RMoriluvr for editing my chapters!**

* * *

Chapter 11: Drowning

Bilbo was worried. He had always worried about a lot of things before his adventure: tea, clothes, his garden, and even his reputation. Yet, after the journey, they seemed like trivial things to worry about. Now, he was worried about Fili. He had felt responsible for him, now that Thorin was gone, but Fili still had Dis, and that was something.

On the outside Fili seemed to be doing well, despite his situation; he had two ways to get around, wheelchair for the mountain, and maraes for everywhere else; he was doing well as King. Yet, he was not well on the inside. The grief inside him was strong, and so was the guilt. He was worried that it was destroying Fili. There were whispers too, within the mountain, that his mind was unwell, not like his predecessors, but in a different way. He seemed to stare off at things no one else could see. Some questioned his strength as a leader. Frár had been the worst of them, but he was gone now.

So, Bilbo went to the person who knew Fili best, probably better than Fili knew himself. He went to Fili's mother, the Lady Dis.

They met in her chambers, with the tea set on her dining table, and some ale in case they needed something a little stronger. She was leaning forward as she sat, elbows on the table as her hands clasped a warm cup of tea; steam swirling into the air. Her face was relaxed, but still strong, like her brother's had been. "So, "she said, before taking a sip of her tea, "what brings you here this fine winters morning, Bilbo Baggins.

He coughed, setting down his own tea, "I wanted to talk to you about Fili."

She sat back, some of the relaxation in her face receding. "Why so?"

"I am worried about him," he answered simply.

She nodded her head, "as am I. The loss of his brother and uncle has been hard on him. He has already lost another uncle he never knew, and a father he barely met."

Bilbo gaped for a moment, shocked. "I didn't know you had another brother, Thorin never-"

"Thorin never spoke of Frerin after he was killed, I think it pained him too much. Our grandfather had just been killed, and our father soon went missing. But Frerin was the one who broke him. Thorin had begged him not to fight, he was so young you see, but Frerin would have none of it. So Thorin felt personally responsible, and it brought him so much pain; he blamed himself for his death," she paused, taking another sip of tea, "like Fili is now.

He took this in. _There is so much I did not know…_ "That's exactly what Fili is doing. He told me himself that he believed it was his fault, right after the battle. But I don't think that is all…"

Dis looked at him inquisitively, "you noticed too?"

"I noticed the way he seems to stare off at things no one else can see; I noticed the way he hides the pain he is feeling instead of acknowledging it. I know everyday he is growing more like Thorin, and not in the way one might hope. He isn't sure of himself right now, and Frár worsened his doubt."

Dis reached for the ale, "you notice a lot, Bilbo Baggins."

"So I am right in my observations?"

The dwarrodam nodded, "Aye, you are. And if others are noticing too, not just the eyes of a concerned mother, then it must be more serious than I thought."

He took a sip of his tea, "So you will go to him?"

"Of course, I am his mother."

* * *

It was morning. Early morning, the time the King, her son, normally woke. He said it was to get ahead start on the day, but she wondered if it was because he was never asleep in the first place. Perhaps the medicine wasn't working. She came upon his chambers, with the large oak wooden door. It was guarded by a young dwarrodam, the one her son had been spending so much time with. Róskva.

Dis couldn't help but wonder if perhaps there was something else going on between them a little bit stronger than friendship. Róskva seemed beautiful, very beautiful in fact. Though, her son wasn't one to fall for looks alone. Pretty she may be, she must be something much more for Fili to be taking an interest in. She had no braids, and didn't seem to be of high birth, but she stood as nobly as a queen. The night Fili had been attacked, he called for her first, not Dwalin or herself. She was proving quite loyal to the prince, and apparently had been since the battle. She smiled inwardly; she was always one for a good old-fashioned love story.

Róskva bowed. "My Lady."

"Róskva," she bowed her head respectfully, offering a smile, "I wish to speak to my son."

Róskva nodded, stepping aside to open the door, "of course."

Dis stepped into the chambers, and to her surprise, she found Fili asleep, the potion beside his bed. His face was not contorted or furrowed the way it usually was when he was awake, but peaceful; appearing as young as he actually was. She decided she would not wake him just yet; he would not be needed for many hours.

So, she sat down beside his bed, and waited.

She studied her son further as he slept. She hadn't seen him asleep since he left on her brother's quest. He looked aged, but not older. Aged by pain, not time. He still looked very young, especially now as he slept. His hair was still just as gold, and was once again past his shoulders. As always, his beard was neatly trimmed, and as gold as his hair. Her golden lion, she used to call him; he did look remarkably like a lion. She ran her fingers through his hair, affection in her heart.

Suddenly, he began to stir. He shifted slightly, shoulders going up; gone was the peacefulness in his face, replaced again by worry. "Fili?" She asked tentatively.

He opened his eyes, "mother? What are you doing here?" Grunting, he pulled himself up and leant against the headrest.

"I wished to speak to you about something."

"Why didn't you wake me? I would have listened."

She smiled softly, "you seemed so peaceful; I did not wish to disturb you."

He looked at her for a moment, face calculating. "What did you want to tell me?" he asked curiously.

"We are worried about you, Fili."

He frowned, "Who is worried? Why?"

"We all are, Fili. The company, myself, Bilbo, others within the mountain," she paused, thinking about how to best say her next words. "no one has seen you cry, Fili. No one would doubt your grief, but some believe that you are 'bottling it up', as they say."

Fili gaped, lost for words. "'I… I don't- "

"That is not all, Fili. Sometimes you seem to go…somewhere else, like you see something no one else can. Is there something going on?" She did not wish to say that the whole of the mountain was beginning to notice this.

He bowed his head, "It's nothing."

 _So it is something…_ "that's exactly what you say when it is something."

"I know, I just… You don't need to worry. I just sort get lost in my thoughts sometimes," he said, trying to sound reassuring.

 _He is lying._ She did not want to push him about it just yet, he would tell her when he was ready, or at least she hoped he would. "There is something else," she started, shaking off another shiver.

He hummed, looking distant again.

"I want you to have someone accompany you at all times. I know you want to do things by yourself, but please, take a guard with you." When Frár had attacked it brought to attention just how vulnerable her son was at the present time, if Frár hadn't slipped and hit his head…

Fili chuckled.

Her eyebrows rose; she hadn't expected that. She had imagined some form of protest or anger. "Is something funny?"

He shook his head, "no, it's just that I already have a personal guard, since last week actually."

Now that was a surprise. How had this gone unnoticed, unless… "Who?"

He smiled, gesturing to the door.

"Róskva?" she asked, trying to conceal her own smile. _So it was true._ "You have been spending quite a lot of time with her… is there anything I should know?"

He flushed, looking anxiously at the door, as if weary she could hear them.

"I'm happy for you, but are you sure you are ready? Have you begun courting her?" she asked, trying to conceal her excitement.

"No, that's not… I haven't," he shook his head, "I mean I don't- "

 _Uh, well… Soon then._ "A mother always knows," she laughed as her son buried his face in his hands, face as red as a beetroot.

* * *

The sound of sword meeting sword rang out from the training yard within the mountain echoing in Fili's ears. Usually, such a training yard would be built outside the main keep, but the city of Erebor was within the mountain, not just the keep, and so the training yard was within it. The only thing that wasn't built into the mountain was the farms and stables, for obvious reasons. He had often wondered if the mountain would smell any different with horse manure instead of dragon.

He wasn't too preoccupied with that thought the moment. He had a promise to keep. He was, however, wondering what had possessed him to agree to this humiliation. His mother, Ari and friends, were all watching.

Róskva delivered another attack with her sword. He wheeled his chair to the left to avoid it. Róskva had forsaken her mace for the first session, saying that it would be easier to fight with the same weapon he bore, and one he was familiar with. He supposed he agreed with her, but it didn't seem to be making fighting in his chair any easier as of yet. He found it easier to simply move away from attacks then block them. It took most of his attention to move the chair, and all to even think about returning an attack.

"You cannot keep moving away like that, you will become too predictable for your enemy, especially if they have the advantage of two weapons. She delivered an overhead attack, her wrist flicking her short-sword with little effort. He mourned for the time he could once do the same. Though, Róskva seemed convinced he would again. He wasn't so sure. "I'm not used to this; I do better with two weapons."

She stopped, but didn't lower her sword, "of course you are not used to this, who would be?" She gestured to his chair with her sword, "you have two weapons; your sword and your chair."

He frowned, "I don't follow."

"Well, you know how to use a sword, the only difference is now you are sitting down, so you will have to get all your power from your core instead of your legs. You have already figured out how to use that chair to your advantage. You are moving away from them instead of blocking them, and quite swiftly at that. All you have to do now is combine the two and get a little faster."

It was like a light bulb went off. He knew he would never be able to fight in his chair with two blades, but this was similar. He had often used one of his blades to give trick attacks, distracting his opponent, he guessed he could do the same with his chair. A chair could only go so fast, and so far, "I will never be able to fight a battle in this," he sobered.

Róskva stared at him in amazement. "What in Middle Earth do you think you have Felaróf for?"

He wanted to slap himself. "Oh, right."

Róskva shook her head, "speaking of which, we should practice on horseback sometime later," she offered, swinging her sword at him again.

He blocked it, before swinging his chair around so he was at an angle, "how does Tuesday at lunch sound?"

"Perfect," she smiled.

Suddenly, his sword was flung from his hand, leaving him unarmed, but not defenceless. He always had a problem with hoarding weapons. Not wasting a moment, he wheeled forward into her legs, sending her stumbling backwards. He used the time to draw a dagger from the sheath on his left forearm.

Róskva yelped suddenly, a small red cut on her hand. He felt his heart jolt for a moment. _No… Oh Mahal, don't let me have hurt her._ He moved forward to apologise but was stopped in surprise at the look on her face. She was smiling.

"Good, now you are getting it."

* * *

"For the last time Fili, you do not need to apologise for a small cut that was made in sword practice, two days ago. It has already healed!"

Fili shook his head, tightening Felaróf's girth. "I hurt you."

"Fili, if that little cut hurt me, you need a new guard."

He moved his chair around so he could let down the stirrups, "that won't be necessary, but I am still sorry."

"I forgive you."

He sighed. What could he say to that? He supposed it was pointless arguing with her. "thank you," he smiled, appreciative. He moved to the makeshift ramp that had been built to let him get as close to his horses back as possible.

"Perhaps we should try getting on from the ground," Róskva suggested.

"How am I supposed to do that?"

She shook her head again, smiling. "Fili, Felaróf is a Mearas, remember. Ask him if he will go down on his legs for you."

He looked to his new friend. His buttermilk coat glistening in the early morning sun. His head was turned around to look at him in question, though his large brown eyes already seemed to know what he wanted.

Fili nodded.

With a blink, Felaróf went gently down on his knees, his hind legs following later.

Fili breathed out, unsure. He considered the best way to go about it without help. He settled on gently pushing up from the chair, and then away from it. He landed on the ground with a thud, but not entirely ungracefully.

Róskva moved to help him.

"No, it's alright. I can do this," he promised. Carefully, he moved so he was leaning against his Mearas, one arm gently carding through his mane. "Is this alright?" he asked, seeking permission.

Felaróf breathed out, chewing.

He smiled, "thank you." Carefully, he placed both hands on the saddles pommel and pushed himself up into it, careful not too land too heavily on Felaróf's spine. He found himself sitting side-saddle, legs hanging limply as he struggled to balance himself without being able to feel the horse beneath him. He pressed his hands into Felaróf's withers for balance.

Róskva beamed, "so far so good!"

With a boost of confidence, he pulled his right leg over so he was straddling the horse's back. He let himself smile, and touched Felaróf's neck to ask him to stand. He smiled, enjoying his small victory.

Hafwen grinned back, "so, to the river?"

"To the river."

* * *

The river was beginning to thaw, there was still a month or so of winter left, but the river was flowing beneath a sheet of ice, not thick enough to stand on. The river was closer to Mirkwood; Fili wondered if some elvish magic had something to do with it. He supposed he did not care. He wanted winter to end, one way or another. Too much had happened too fast. He hoped that spring would signal a new chance for life, a new beginning.

It was odd, to fight on horseback without the use of his legs; Felaróf still listened to his every thought and wish, but it felt strange not to have to use his legs to steer away or around an oncoming weapon. One thing was for certain though, Róskva was unrelenting in her practice drills; there was little sympathy from her. He appreciated that, once he came to understand why she did it. She cared. She reasoned that a real enemy would not give second chances, or take it easy on account of his condition, they will only use it against him. It wasn't as if he didn't know how to fight either, so he wasn't exactly green in his experience with weapons.

So, they fought, or rather practised, along the bank of the river, both mounted on their steeds. Fili had the advantage of height, his mearas taller than a dwarven mountain pony- that took a little getting used to as well. Though, despite the difficulty of the whole ordeal, he found he was enjoying himself. It was different to the chair. In the chair, it was obvious he had a weakness, but on a horse he could hide it. An enemy might not notice, lest they notice the straps that held his legs to the saddle. What was more, with his mearas he did not need to hold the reins, which left him with two free hands, free to hold two twin blades.

It felt right.

He grinned as he parried another one of Róskva unrelenting attacks. Though his pride was short-lived, for suddenly she rammed her own horse into his, sending them both stumbling. He felt his balance lesson, and he would have fallen had it not been for the straps holding him in place.

"We should work on balancing without a saddle, just in case," she suggested, for once giving him a moment, but only short one.

He shook his head, delivering a blunted undercut. In a real fight, he would have to watch out for such blows towards his mount, for they would be the doom of them both is an opponent wisened up to the easier target. "That isn't possible," he argued.

"Only until you make it possible."

They continued on like this for another half an hour or so, Fili paying more attention to keeping his own mount safe, and Róskva doing everything she could to prepare him.

For what, suddenly became quite apparent.

First came a sharp, guttural, shriek. Then another, and soon two more. Orcs.

He looked to the sky, and found that the sun had begun to fade. _Have we really been practising for so long?_ With the sun faded, the orcs could roam wherever they pleased, without the threat of burning. They came from behind a ridge, some survivors of Azog's army, their bodies hunched over as they skulked towards them. There were four of them, all armed.

Felaróf snorted, pawing the ground.

"Fili, go. Run!" Róskva ordered, her normally cool composure broken, if only for a moment.

"Not a chance." He was certain that Róskva could handle herself, but there was no way he was going to leave his guard, and his friend alone to fight some stray orcs while he hid like a coward. Though, he could not deny that he felt a spark of fear within him. He shivered, but took up arms, ready.

And so, they fought.

Róskva killed one almost immediately, removing its head with a quick strike of her sword. The rest was a blur of red, black and white. He tried to focus, he had three things to watch out for, Felaróf, for if he lost him he would not be able to protect anyone. Róskva, for he could not lose her, and himself, last of all. He reminded himself that there were only three of them left, maybe two now. Not that much of a threat really. _It only took two to kill most of my family…_

He let out a roar, slicing at the stomach of the nearest, and smallest orc. Its entrails fell from it in a flush of black blood. It screamed a horrible, terrible sound, clawing at its own stomach. It would not last much longer.

They were at the edge of the river when Felaróf went onto his hind legs, kicking at the next closest orc, sending it leaping backwards. It screeched, enraged. It lunged forward, swiping at Felaróf with its sword. He wheeled Felaróf away, exposing his own side to save his mearas throat. The orc swiped at his legs, slicing through the straps of his right leg easily. He heard Róskva scream his name, and then he was falling. He heard the ice crack.

He was hanging by his left calf, torso submerged in the icy water. He could not see, or breathe, but he could think. With as much strength as he could muster, he pulled his torso up, just enough that he could reach out of the water and grasp for the emergency release he knew was there. Panicked, his fingers grasped at empty air, and he felt himself fall back again, only to be pulled out of the water, but not the river itself. Felaróf was pulling away from the river. Gasping for lost air, he reached up again, and able to see, his fingers met with a leather strap. He pulled.

He fell, again. This time, his whole body submerged in the freezing water. He struggled to pull himself up, his legs a useless dead weight, dragging him down. Panicked, he grasped at the water, trying to claw his way back up to the surface. He felt his lungs strain, as if they would burst, and his mouth open-ended to allow a pool of water to enter his lungs. His vision began to fade. He felt himself begin to give up.

Then he felt an arm encircle him, pulling him up. Pulling him to air, to life.

He fell against the earth, and he gasped out, retching up the water in his lungs. Felaróf nuzzled him, worried. He reached up to pet his muzzle in reassurance. "I'm okay, boy. I'm ok." He pulled himself up, and turned to face his rescuer. She was staring at him with an unreadable expression, or maybe perhaps shock. Without hesitation, or maybe without thinking, he pulled Róskva into an embrace, grateful. So very grateful.

"Fili, you're freezing!" she exclaimed, but returned the embrace nonetheless.

He pulled away, "I don't know how to thank you."

"I think you just did," she smiled, pulling her own coat over him.

"How did you pull me out of the river? I would have been a dead weight."

She shrugged, "Well, I suppose it was panic. You were drowning, and I needed to save you. It was like something was pulling me out of the water as well, I suppose."

He nodded, grateful. "I owe you my life; again it would seem."

She frowned, "when was the first time?"

 _When I met you._ He only smiled.

* * *

 _"Fili!" his brother cried out, disappearing beneath the rushing water, still not letting go of the pony's reins._

 _The stupid idiot had tried to rescue the ponies when the pony's legs were swept out from underneath them. "Hold on!" he cried, ignoring his uncle's shouts. Without hesitating, and without thinking, he dove in after his brother._

 _He reached him through the struggle against the rushing water, more mobile without having to worry about the ponies. He wrapped an arm around his chest and fought against the strength of the river. Still, Kili refused to let go of the ponies. A rope splashed into the water just shy of them; Fili reached out with his free arm for it, letting them be swept down the river just a bit to catch up with the rope. He grasped it with his_ fingers, _and felt them begin to be pulled to shore, ponies swimming behind them._

 _The ponies were taken from Kili's shaking_ hands, _and led safely up the bank. Fili collapsed with his brother on the same bank, both shaking in each other's arms._

 _"What were you thinking?!" A harsh, yet concerned filled voice scalded. "You could have gotten yourselves killed!_

 _Kili tried to smile, "we're fine, uncle. We're safe."_

 _Thorin sighed, exasperated and relieved; he knelt down to embrace them both. "Don't ever do that again."_

 _They knew better than to argue._

Fili awoke with a start, though he wasn't disturbed by the memory, more saddened.

 _"Now we are even",_ a voice whispered, from nowhere.

He shivered.

* * *

Two days had passed since the incident at the river, and his kin where growing wearier of his safety. He had insisted it was an isolated attack, just a few stray orcs from the army, nothing left to fighting for. His mother had remarked that he had almost died. Once he would have argued otherwise, but he would admit she was right. He had sent his saddle off for repairs, however, and he was once again confined to his chair.

He was with Róskva now, watching Ari ride around on her pony, seemingly oblivious to any trouble in the world. He wondered if Ari just hid it well. Nevertheless, he drew happiness from her own. He glanced at his guard, watching as her auburn hair flowing gently in the wind, braid-less.

He drew a deep breath, summoning any courage he might still have left. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his gift. "Róskva?" he asked gently.

She hummed, turning to face him. Her eyes grew wide. "Fili, what- "

"I was going to give them to you later, to thank you, but you might find them more useful in this wind," he turned his hand over hers, letting the two silver beads fall into her palm gently. Their hands lingered for a moment.

Róskva stared at her palm for a moment, her mouth agape in shock. "Fili, I… I don't know what to say.

"You don't have to say anything," he reassured, he opened his palm back up, "may I?"

She smiled back, nodding as she returned the beads. She turned and knelt so her hair was in reach. Cautiously, and not without a moment of hesitation, he reached out and undid the hair tied at the back of her head, letting it fall to the rest of her hair. Tentatively, he began to braid the lock of hair that normally was pulled back simply; as he did so, he threaded one bead into the braid, before tying it loosely so he might do the same for the other side of her head. When he was done, he re-tied the two braids into the normal bun she wore at the back of her head, long tresses hanging beneath it. "Done," he said, pleased.

She touched the braids gently, smiling warmly, "done."


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot, Róskva, Ari and any other original characters.**

 **Thank you so much to all those who have reviewed, and those who are still reading this. Once again, so sorry for the wait!**

* * *

Chapter 12: Faces from the Past

The last few days had been peaceful, as peaceful as they could have been since the last attack. Fili had wondered if many other rulers had this frequent assassination attempts. He didn't know the answer to that, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to. The attacks had made him more cautious, not for himself, but for his kin. He didn't doubt that sooner or later someone would think to get to him by harming his friends. A part of him had wondered if he should distance himself from others, from the company, from Róskva and Ari. The thought pained him, but if it came to it, he would.

He wasn't the only one who was concerned, his Lady mother was as well, obviously. For himself, however, not his kin. She was sitting across from him now, breathing deeply. He had been arguing with her again, and by the way she had folded her arms like Uncle used to, he guessed that she had reached the end of his tether.

"Fili, I know you trust this Róskva, but I do not think her protection is enough. The incident at the river proved that."

He recoiled, "She succeeded in her duty's, she saved my life."

"Yes, but only after a band of orcs approached, attacked and dragged you into the river," she paused for a moment, her blue eyes looking away for a moment, "why did neither of you notice them approaching?"

He felt himself flush slightly, and he wasn't sure why. It wasn't as if they had been doing anything... "We were training."

His mother raised an incredulous eyebrow, training?"

 _Oh, Mahal, I made it worse._ He thought it best to clarify, "Róskva has been teaching me to fight in my chair and on horseback. She is a skilled warrior. The river proved that."

His mother stared at him for a moment, as Uncle used to, observing and calculating. "You have been training to fight?"

He nodded, "I… when Frár attacked, I felt so vulnerable, so helpless. I have only felt like that once before… when it happened. I never want to feel like that again."

After a moment, his mother nodded, accepting what he had said. "I am still worried. I… people are talking."

He frowned, "about?" They could be talking about anything, his legs, his deceased kin, the fact that he was the only one of his line with blonde hair, besides his father- Though many didn't know that. The possibilities were without limit. As they had always been.

She sighed, "No one has seen you cry, or show much, well, emotion. They are beginning to call you things, Fili. They don't know you as your kin does, and they don't know what to think."

He shook his head, "let them talk. They do not understand, is all."

"No, they do not," she paused, "but Fili, know this. I do not wish you to think I am siding with them, but I do not want you to stop yourself from feeling your own grief. You need to Fili; it is the only way to... to let go of it. To let go of them." There were tears in her eyes now as she shuddered, "you do not have to forget them, nor do I expect you to simply 'get over it.' They were our family, and I feel their losses as you do, and I know we can get through this together… like last time."

 _Like last time. When Father was killed._ He had done the same when he had passed, 'not let himself feel' as his mother put it. He supposed that last time he did get through it. _Because last time I had Kili._

* * *

He had given some thought to what his mother had said in the last day or so. He had to let go, but he did not want to. It felt wrong, to do so. He didn't understand how others did it so readily as if their deaths were so easily forgotten and dealt with. He felt disgusted by the idea of it- and angry. He also felt anger towards those who thought he felt nothing either. He felt _so much_ , too much. He felt as if he was going to burst with all the confusion, anger and sadness fighting within him. He didn't want to let it out for fear of what might happen if people saw what he was made of now.

Sadness and fear.

The fear was sometimes worse. It crippled him, beyond the physical. It made him think that there was always something lurking around the corner, even when he knew it was impossible. A flicker of a torch in a dark hallway could spark it, or the reminder of his inability to run if necessary. Worse was the fear, the anticipation, that he would see them. He knew it was impossible, and he must have been mistaken all those times, but he still saw them, even if it was only a flicker. His mind knew it couldn't be real, but his eyes said otherwise. He wasn't sure what to believe.

He as afraid, and there was only one person he felt he could trust not to judge him or make panicked assumptions right away. The only one, other than Ari and his mother, who would talk to him as Fili, the dwarf from the Blue Mountains, not Fili, The King Under the Mountain.

So, he found himself outside Róskva's door, without a guard, possibly foolishly. He would have asked Dwalin, or maybe his mother, but he didn't wish to raise suspicions.

Hesitantly, he raised his closed hand to the door and knocked. Not long after, the door was pulled open by a slightly weary-looking Róskva, a hand on the hilt of her mace. Her eyes filled with realisation a second later, and she dropped her hand and defensive posture, "Oh, Fili. I wasn't expecting you. Is everything all right?"

He shook his head, deciding it was better, to be honest, "I need to talk to you about something."

She nodded, moving out of the doorway.

He hesitated, for a moment, unsure if it was proper for him to enter her chambers like this? He shook the thought away; they were friends. He moved his chair forward, into the room, Róskva following behind.

Her rooms were similar in shape and design as his, only less. There were no lush blue fabrics or dark furs. Only basic fabrics and worn furs. Though, it was homely. The hearth was alight, and the room filled with belongings. However few they were. The was a weapons rack by the door, with short swords, axes and maces alike. The desk held an assortment of books, and papers, all well looked after. The bookshelf held more. _A bookworm._ He smiled, imagining what would happen if she met Bilbo, or Ori at that.

Róskva took a seat at her table, pulling a chair away for his own. She waited for him to settle before speaking. "What is it you wish to discuss?"

How do I say this? He hadn't really thought that far ahead. "I do not completely know how to explain it, for I don't quite believe it."

She nodded, "whatever it is, I will listen."

He believed her; trusted her not to turn away in fear of him, "I… I see things. Things that shouldn't be there."

She didn't react for a moment, only looked at him, thinking. "You are seeing Thorin and Kili, aren't you?"

There was no point denying it. He nodded, "I am."

She nodded, "Is that what- who you are looking at when you-"

"Yes, and I know they couldn't possibly be real. I'm not mad- but I still see them, and I wonder if I am," he stopped, taking in a deep breath.

Róskva shook her head, "you are not mad, Fili. I'm sure there is an explanation."

He hoped so but did not say anything.

"Perhaps we should go to the library; there may be something about it there. Maybe someone- "

"The library is an idea, but please, I don't want anybody else to know yet. Not unless I can find a way to stop it, or at least its cause." He had briefly thought the gold sickness was to blame; it was known to cause hallucinations, he had seen it in his uncle. Yet, he felt nothing for gold, nothing at all. He had ruled it out as a possibility.

So, to the library, they went.

* * *

Getting to the library seem to pose more difficulties than originally anticipated, well, for Fili anyway. It would seem that the library was not included when plans for wheel-chair acceptable pathways were made. He sighed, looking at the long, steep stairway. There were obviously intervals of flat ground, every ten steps or so, but there were five of those intervals.

"I could… I could carry you."

He froze, shocked. _She would offer to do such a thing?_ He wasn't quite sure how to react, so he simply nodded.

She smiled, "right then." With that, she bent down, slipped her arms underneath him and swept him up into her arms like he weighed no more than a child. Maybe he didn't; he hadn't been eating well as of late.

He stared up at her, arms around her so he might relieve some of his dead-weight. He felt shocked, anyone else he would have felt embarrassed, childlike even. But now, he felt pride? He was impressed, in awe, not in her strength- all dwarves are strong, but in her loyalty. A warm feeling filled his chest, maybe even his heart. He smiled, "thank you."

She smiled back, "to the library?"

He nodded, "of course."

She nodded and began there accent up the stairs, and all the while his eyes did not leave hers. Eventually, they made it to the top, and they were posed with a new issue: his chair. Róskva looked at him where he sat on a chair. "I could carry it up as well, but I would have to leave you alone."

"I can defend myself if necessary."

Róskva didn't look so sure, but before she could argue her eyes looked beyond him, in relief. "Master Ori, would you mind guarding your King for a jiffy?"

Ori, quill and book in hand as was usual, nodded. "Of course."

And so, Fili was left as Róskva went to go and retrieve his chair. He turned to the scribe, "hello, Ori," he said, with none of the normal mischief that sentence used to hold when he said it. _That was when I was not a King, and Kili_ were _alive._

Ori seemed to notice, judging by the suspicious frown on his face, which was quickly masked. "Hello, my King."

He shook his head, "Ori, we have known each other since we were dwarfing's. You can call me by my name."

The scribe considered this for a moment, before smiling ever so slightly. "Okay, Fili. What can I help you with?"

He felt a stab of caution. He didn't want to raise suspicion in the scribe, but he knew he could trust him. He felt ashamed for thinking otherwise. Though… he was Nori's brother. He sighed, putting caution to the wind anyway. "Do you know of any books that speak of illusions, hallucinations. That sort of thing."

Ori raised an eyebrow, but before he could respond Róskva returned, chair in hand. She set it down carefully, gesturing to it. He shook his head, "thank you." He turned back to Ori, wondering.

"I… I think I might have something."

* * *

It was true that Ori did have some books on hallucinations and such. But they weren't making much progress in determining what exactly was the cause of her friend's hallucinations, if that is what they were, after all. Always good to keep an open mind. Although she did think it was possible that what he saw was real, she did believe that he was seeing something.

The books she had been going over spoke of dwarves who often saw things from a young age that weren't there, particularly after a terrible event, and that it often drove them mad. That wasn't particularly helpful. Though, she supposed, it made some sense. However, it said that these 'delusions' were often present before an event, and only worsened by them. She did not know if Fili had always seen things, but she doubted it.

All in all, the books were particularly vague.

She told Fili as such, much to his disappointment, for it would seem had found nothing either.

She wondered though. Maybe they were looking for an explanation in the wrong way. She sighed, only time would tell.

Having failed in finding an explanation to his situation, Fili returned to his duties wearily. He did not know who he might see in court. He had begun to double his already doubled dosage of the potion Glorfindel had given him, hoping for some relief. He wasn't sure if it did.

More dwarves had arrived from the Blue Mountains, the ones who had lingered in fear that the mountain would fall again, in its weakened state. They were here now, seeking the company of those who had already left them for the Mountain, he assumed. As King, he was responsible for providing a guided tour of the mountain, for those who did not, or could not remember it. A part of him wished he could ride Felaróf for these tours. It would mean less staring, or at least less judgmental staring. Róskva was with him; hair braided neatly with his beads. He smiled when he saw her absentmindedly ran her fingers through her hair.

They rounded a sharp corner to a cross-path, approaching the chambers, the ones nearest the kitchens. "These halls were among the first to be prepared, and you will find them furnished for your comfort," he told, repeating the words he had spoken so many times the last few weeks. His followers talked amongst themselves, expressing their opinions. He stalled, slowing his chair so he didn't rush them.

A moment later, he felt himself slow to a stop, his ears beginning to prick with noise. Sounds, voices footsteps; not just from behind, but from all sides. Other groups were approaching it would seem. He felt his chest tighten slightly, the sensation of being surrounded itching in the back of his mind. He could hear Róskva's voice, though he could not hear her words. Instead, his eyes caught the light of the torches lining the halls, flickering. Threating. His breath caught in his throat, and he tried to back himself up, only he backed into the dwarves behind him. Trapped.

Then suddenly he felt he was there again. Ravenhill. In every way except physically. Everything seemed to grow cloudy, except somehow, what was right in front of him.

Thorin and Kili.

Standing amongst the stone, torches, and noise. Eyes staring, concerned and disbelieving.

He froze, unable to move anything except his eyes, like that day on Ravenhill. He clenched his eyes, determined to be rid of the illusion. _You cannot be here… You are not real_. He drew another deep breath, the voices and sounds around him muted. _I am not there. I am in Erebor, and I am safe_. He opened his eyes.

They were right before him, close, and still he could not move.

They were as clear as they had been when alive, no longer faded or fuzzy, a flicker of a face in the crowd. Their mouths were moving, speaking. But like the others, their voices were muted. He shook his head, denying. Slowly, Kili took a step forward, arm outstretched, almost tentatively. Ever so lightly, the illusion touched his shoulder.

He shivered.

* * *

Fili wasn't responding to anything, not her voice or anyone else. Róskva had known as soon as his breath had ceased up that something was wrong, which was only confirmed when his eyes fixed on some point ahead of him. At something she, or anyone else, could not see.

He eventually closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them again. As if he was trying to convince himself of whatever he was seeing.

Suddenly, he reeled backwards in his chair, throwing it and him back. She let out an involuntary gasp, jumping out of the way as the other dwarves did. A moment later he began pointing, shouting. Names. Their names. It was a mess of shouting and noise. The dwarves on the tour began shouting too, unsure of what was happening, and what to do.

"He's lost it," one said.

"Just like his uncle and those before him," another muttered.

She felt herself growing angry at the judgment, which only increased as they began to circle around the trembling King. She growled, kneeling at Fili's side ", can't you see you are making it worse, go and find help. Oin, Dwalin, Lady Dis, anyone. Go, quick!"

Soon the crowd dispersed, murmuring, hopefully, to return with the help she had demanded. She looked back to Fili, on his back, propped up by his arms, eyes still glazed as he breathed heavily. She thought about what she should do; she didn't want to startle him further by making contact. She decided it was best to try and continue talking. "Fili?" Nothing. She swallowed, "Fili, can you hear me? Please. Let me know if you can hear me."

He didn't respond for one terrifying moment, but then he blinked, his eyes re-focussing. He turned to her, chest still heaving. "I… can see them. Róskva, I can see them. Why can I see them?"

His voice was so small, so frightened. It broke her. And so, ever so carefully, she pulled him into her arms, burying her face in his hair. "I don't know Fili; I don't know. But I promise we will figure it out. I promise."

They stayed like that for a while. Just holding each other. But soon urgent footsteps approached. Three different strides, for three different dwarves. The Lady Dis, the healer Oin, and the warrior, Dwalin.

Fili was still muttering that he could see them, repeatedly, even though he was turned away from the place he had been staring, hidden in her embrace.

The Lady Dis looked around, confused and bewildered, before realising what had most likely happened. She fell to her knees next to them, "Oh, Fili," she said, taking Fili from her arms and into

She swallowed, "I think… I think he was remembering the place where he was captured. He sort of lost focus and began staring off into nowhere, barely breathing. He said he could see them."

Dis looked down at her Son, who had his eyes clenched shut again, "did he specify who he could see?"

Róskva looked down, suddenly wondering Is she should have spoken to Dis earlier. Maybe this could have been avoided. "I… he spoke to me earlier that he had seen them. Only flickers, never anything like this," she paused, "Thorin and Kili." At the words, she saw Dis give a small shudder, though not in disgust, but rather in shock.

Dwalin looked at her, drawing his gaze away from Fili "You knew of this?"

She bowed her hair, "I- "she stopped. She didn't have the right to justify herself, for it would mean that she was denying her responsibility, "yes, I did. I learned of it two days past."

They said no more and instead turned their attention towards Fili. Oin began to look over him, listening to his breathing, checking his eyes. Fili, though responsive, seemed to dead to the world, eyes looking else wear.

"We best take him back to his room," advised the healer. Dwalin and The Lady Dis nodded in agreement.

She herself rose to her feet, "If I may, can I accompany you back to ensure his safe return?"

Dwalin was already lifting Fili up, Dis following his example, except with the chair. Oin turned to her,"'Lass, I think its best if ya go on your way, it ain't proper for you to be spending so much time with him."

She felt a stab in her heart. She knew that people would argue it was because they were not formally courting, but the real reason would always lie with her birth circumstances. She felt herself grow a little empty in feeling, watching as the four disappeared to Fili's quarters. She was alone.

But she would not leave Fili in his hour of need.

* * *

They waited outside Fili's room, for Oin to return to give a report of her son, and in Dwalin's case, friend. There was an eery silence, filled with dread and fear. _What has happened to my son?_ Fili had never reacted well to grief; when he was a dwarfling and his father had passed he had been much the same as he was now. Only, it never escalated to hallucinations and illusions. If it continued, or they could find no cure, they might have to consider options in terms of leadership. Dis did not want that to happen- she would not let that happen. Her son would be a great King, but first, they had to get past this.

Oin soon came shuffling back out the doors of Fili's chambers, an assortment of things in his hands came to a stop before them, "he is resting now. I searched his room, as you asked, and I found these." He presented the items to them: some papers and a bottle. The potion bottle; it was empty.

She took the papers, curious. "What are these?"

"They are letters. He wrote them to get his thoughts out of his mind," a new voice said.

All eyes turned to its owner, and Dis was met with the sight of Róskva, despite having been told not to follow, and with her was no less the Ari. The girl was chewing her fingernails, holding the dwarrodam hand. No doubt the girl had no one else to watch over her at the present time, as she herself had to leave her to attend to her son. "Do you know what they contain?"

Róskva shook her head, "I do not."

Dwalin shuffled closer, peering over her shoulders, "we better have a look then."

Agreeing, she began to read over them. They were not dated, so they had to determine the time of the events based on their own knowledge of the events. Some she knew of, some she did not. _'It has been years since I last wrote my thoughts on paper, not since my father was killed in battle.' 'I am not alone, I have family still, but I feel alone.'_ He had written about his injury as well; it would seem. ' _I can sense their uncertainty around the topic; they act as though it is not there. Like avoiding looking at a scar on someone's face, you know it is there, yet you know you must not stare.'_ She had noticed people doing that, and even had to catch her self once or twice.

 _'For the dreams and nerve damage, he gave me a potion, one drop a night; I have not tried it yet, but I suspect I will when I am done writing this. The nightmares are growing strong now._ ' She sighed at that, so that is where it began; perhaps his overdosing was linked to his troubles.

He wrote of Róskva often, very often at that. _'Róskva is dutiful. She has been at my side since I first started being able to stay awake for a whole day. I respect her for that, and maybe I feel something else, but I can't be sure.'_ It was during his first ride with Róskva that he first started seeing them, if his recordings were accurate.

 _'A dwarf attacked me this night. I was saved, by some unseen force. I can't help but connect it to the other things I have been seeing. I know I shouldn't. They're dead.'_

 _'Róskva pulled me from the river today; she saved my life. Though, I would have thought it impossible had I not lived it. I was sinking, a dead weight, yet she pulled me up like I weighed nothing. The tingling still hasn't stopped; I have doubled my dosage, again.'_

 _'Róskva and I searched fur a reason for my hallucinations. I know they cannot be real, but that does not seem to stop me from seeing them…'_

That was enough for her, the story seemed clear, yet so much was still unknown. The reasons, causes, and solutions were all hidden. However, she did not doubt that the potion had something to do with it. Maybe it was even the cause.

A tugging on her sleeve drew her from her thoughts, "grandma?"

Ari then; she had grown used to the title, despite having no relation, she supposed in the girl's eyes she fitted the idea, though not physically of course. She prided herself on her young appearance. "Yes, little one?"

"Is Fili sick?"

She sighed, a lump forming in her throat, "it would seem so little one, it would seem so." But of what kind of sickness, she did not know.

She drew herself up, her chin held high, "come, my friends. We should leave him to his rest."

* * *

Róskva had not seen Fili since the day it had happened. He had stayed shut in his room, only opening the door to accept food. The Lady Dis had taken over his duties temporarily, telling the court that Fili was unwell and unable to attend to his duties for the time being. It wasn't that far from the truth.

The mountain continued to move around him, and the world with it. People were asking questions, questioning him even. Since the incident with Frár, that kind of talk often one many distrust; anyone was could be the next Frár.

Orcs were approaching again, not trying the luck with the mountain- even they weren't that stupid. They were approaching one of the newer camps set up by the human settlers, not quite ready to live in Dale yet. Many of the humans could not defend themselves, and so a few dwarves were summoned to defend them, by the order of Lady Dis. And they answered so gladly.

She herself was one of them.

There were about one hundred or so orcs approaching, and twenty or so dwarves. An even match, to be completely honest. The orcs wouldn't stand a chance; still, there was a chance they would.

She wanted to bid her goodbyes to Fili before she left for a few days, just in case.

Just in case it was the last goodbye.

* * *

Róskva had been outside his door for half an hour or so, and she had not left yet. She had said many things, but he couldn't focus enough to understand many of her words. There was another rasp on the door, "Fili please, I want to see you- "

He felt a fury rise up inside him, "leave me! Can't you see I don't want you here!"

There was a silence, a cold and quite one. Then came a sound he had not heard before. A shaking, breathing sound. Róskva was crying. "Goodbye, Fili," she said. Then there was another silence.

He clenched his jaw, swallowing; a feeling of dread and guilt overcoming him. _I shouldn't have done that…_

Yet, he wanted to be alone, from everyone, even from Róskva. Even from them.

He didn't want anyone to see him, for he knew what they would say. That he was crazy, unfit to be King, that he was imagining it and they weren't real. All sorts of things. A part of him thought they were right; wanted them to be right. It would be easier; make more sense then what was truly the reality. But he knew better now.

He had been right, Thorin and Kili were not alive. Not really; they had died on the battlefield, where he should have. Yet, they didn't seem to be truly dead either, in the same way, that they were not alive. They were somewhere in between.

They were with him now, Kili sitting beside him on his bed, frowning in concern. His uncle was leaning against his desk; arms crossed as he looked over his old rooms. They would not leave him alone, not once in the last few days had they left. He wondered if they ever had.

They looked as they had before they died, battle armour and all. Kili looked sad, so very sad. The sparkle in his eyes had gone out; Fili did not doubt he was the reason why. His brother had not left his side since the tour. Once he wouldn't have minded, for it was as it had always been. The both of them, side by side forever.

But not like this.

His uncle looked as he always had done, stern and composed in his nobility. Only happy and smiling amongst himself and Kili. It would seem that had changed too. His uncle looked weighed down, defeated. His blue eyes met his, "Fili, I know this is hard, but you must attend to your people; support your friends."

He looked away; he would not talk to them. They looked like them, were probably them, but they couldn't be. They had died; whatever they were could be nothing more than a shallow reflection of what they were. Though in the back of his mind even he doubted that. If he hadn't known they were dead he would have thought they were alive and well, just sadder. He didn't want to face them, not after causing their deaths.

So he sat, silent. Surrounded by the dead.


End file.
